The English Scheme Lyrics - Fall

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene 

Come see, come hear, the English Scheme. 

The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags. 

The clever ones tend to emigrate 

Like your psychotic big brother, who left home 

For jobs in Holland, Munich, Rome 

He's thick but he struck it rich, switch 

The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop 

Guess that's why they end up in bands 

He's the green piece in us all 

He's the creep-creep in us all 

Condescends to black men 

Very nice to them 

They talk of Chile while driving through Haslingden 

You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens 

Peter Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups 

Point their fingers at America 

Down pokey quaint streets in Cambridge 

Cycles our distant spastic heritage 

Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head 

If we was smart we'd emigrate