Jackboots are going cheap
in the freefall stores,
while the rest of us weep
over the land that’s now yours;
your leader’s cheeks are deepest
red as he pulls up his drawers.
England is a meaner place today.
And at the Polish Embassy,
they’re scrubbing off the paint,
while old Mr Dubicki’s
punched head is feeling faint
at the thought of going to see
the police to make a complaint.
Yes, England is a meaner place today.
Out on the streets they’re singing
their number one song,
the market stalls are ringing
to “Go back where you came from”.
I’m desperately still clinging
to a place I no longer belong.
England is a mean place today.