So who allowed the foreign grey
to drive the British red away?
While running freely up our trees
they eat the food and spread disease.
While further north it’s worse than that,
extinction for the dear wild-cat.
Moggies of a different strand
can wander freely on their land...
That kind of thing is never good,
it leads to mixing of the blood.
It’s much the same with woodland too,
trees should be British through and through,
‘cos don’t-y’-know it’s beech and oak
make lovely walks for gentle folk.
Those foresters with foreign firs
are philistines or tasteless curs.
Thank God the matter’s well in hand
with vigilantes round the land
combining their almighty might
to put these dreadful things to right
with battle cries that ring profound
like... “British life on British ground!”
There’s many deeds do-gooders do
but, Johnny England, none for you.
You were not asked and not informed
your land would change, your town transformed.
As populace swells uncontrolled,
“It’s good for growth,” so you are told
by boss and banker as they strut
and plan new ways to undercut
your hard fought wage and meagre share
with labour brought from, “over there.”
Traditions too must dampen down
lest they offend and cause a frown
on someone’s face who chose to be
where once you felt relaxed and free.
As services come under strain
it’s you that has to bear the pain,
and not a thing that you can do
for no one gives a damn for you.
For, Johnny... you’re not cute you see
like cat and squirrel – or a tree.