There Are Bad Times Just Around The Corner Lyrics - The Third Three Years - Frank Turner

They're out of sorts in Sunderland, 

And terribly cross in Kent. 

They're dull in Hull, 

And the Isle of Mull 

Is seething with discontent. 

They're nervous in northumberland, 

And Devon is down the drain, 

They're filled with wrath on Firth of Forth, 

And sullen on Salisbury plain. 

In Dublin they're depressed lads, 

Maybe because they're Celts, 

For drake is going West, lads, 

And so is everyone else. 

Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! 

Misery is here to stay. 

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There are bad times just around the corner, 

There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky, 

And it's no good whining, 

About a silver lining, 

For we know from experience they won't roll by. 

With a scowl and a frown we'll keep our peckers down, 

And prepare for depression and doom and dread. 

We're going to unpack our troubles from our old kit bag, 

And wait until we drop down dead. 

From Portland Bill to Scarborough, 

They're querulous and subdued, 

And Shropshire lads 

Have behaved like cads 

From Berwick-on-Tweed to Bude. 

They're mad at Market Harborough, 

And livid at Leigh-on-Sea, 

In Tunbridge Wells 

You can hear the yells 

Of woe-begone bourgeoisie. 

We all get bitched about, lads, 

Whoever our vote elects. 

We know we're up the spout, lads, 

And that's what England expects. 

Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! 

Trouble is on the way. 

Photos 

There are bad times just around the corner, 

The horizon is gloomy as can be. 

There are black birds over 

The greyish cliffs of Dover 

And the rats are preparing to leave the BBC. 

We're unhappy breed, and very bored indeed, 

When reminded of something that Nelson said. 

While the press and the politicians nag, nag, nag, 

We will wait until we drop down dead. 

From Colwyn Bay to Kettering, 

They're sobbing themselves to sleep, 

The shrieks and wails 

In the Yorkshire dales 

Have even depressed the sheep. 

In rather vulgar lettering, 

A very disgruntled group 

Have posted bills 

On the Cotswold Hills 

To prove that we're in the soup. 

While begging Kipling's pardon, 

There's one thing we know for sure: 

If England is a garden, 

We ought to have more manure. 

Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! 

Suffering and dismay. 

There are bad times just around the corner 

And the outlook's absolutely vile, 

There are Home Fires smoking 

From Windermere to Woking 

And we're not going to tighten our belts and smile, smile, smile. 

At the sound of a shot, 

We'd just as soon as not 

Take a hot water bottle and go to bed, 

We're going to untense our muscles till they sag, sag, sag, 

And wait until we drop down dead. 

There are bad times just around the corner, 

We can all look forward to despair. 

It's as clear as crystal 

From Bridlington to Bristol 

That we can't save democracy and we don't much care. 

If the Reds and the Pinks 

Believe that England stinks 

And that world revolution is bound to spread, 

We'd better all learn the lyrics of the old 'Red Flag' 

And wait until we drop down dead.