The Ballad of Breck's Isle (click to hear it)
"No man is an island but a part of the main." John Donne
"No man is an island but a part of the main." John Donne
With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir
And seize back control from green Brussels
And win a No Deal with Nil Points
The UK will win Eurovision again;
Cilla, with Ringo's hair.
The Tories will be Winston Churchill again.
(Except that they never were.)
You can keep your French shtick, your double Deutch,
Your Dolce-clad discothèques
Your tiqui-taca, your Peps and your Klopps
Your Lattes and Pilsners and Becks.
You can keep your fromage, your Nordic noir,
Your Breughel and Brendan and Brecht,
Your Christendom, culture and 'civitas,'
Let me live on the Isle of Breck
Where coiffure d'Albert is Albert's of Heacham
And le bistrot a gastritis-pub;
Where mange tout de chef is Chav's All You Can Eat
And pure white folk rules at the club.
As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision
With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir
And seize back control from green Brussels
And win a no-deal with 'nil points',
England will win the World Cup again,
Harry Kane will be the hot Spur
The Who will be Number One again
(Except that they never were.)
You can keep your Rioja, your Pinot, your Brut,
Give us Spitfire and Bombadier
And Broadside and Bomber and Brexile Bitter
And rationing, hatred and fear.
It's the new party line, the new Civil War,
Breaching kin, class, friend and Union
Eyes right, all salute the all-white flag
Of our half-mast donkey-led kingdom.
Full steam ahead to Breck's Isle, Ahoy!
A hundred percent right and sure
Or 52 on a confident day
Which it might not be anymore.
As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision
With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir
And seize back control from green Brussels
And win a no-deal with 'nil points',
Wales will win the World Cup/ beat the All Blacks/ again;
Real Madrid/ Warren Gatland/ the Spur;
The valleys be home-grown and funded again
(Except that they never were.)
100 percent for a four point turn
Going back where we weren't before
Back from the Front and that Normandy beach
Home to Brexile's doughty white shore.
We will fight in the plazas where families dine out,
Kick over their wine and cuisine;
We will never surrender our country and cod
And chip on the shoulder and Queen.
We are the champions of Europe we were
And will be, by running away
Backwards up Winston Churchill Drive
Though his soft 'Will' has shrunk to hard 'May.'
As our sandy shores rock Euro-vision
With our white Cliff-Engelbert noir
And seize back control from green Brussels
And win a no-deal with 'nil points',
Northern Ireland will win the World Cup again,
A backstop midfield be the Spur,
Our Lost Lands will be Arthur's England again
(Except that they never were.)
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