Oh why did my folk come to Britain,
To this place at the end of the line,
For there’s nothing here but the weather and beer
In this land where the sun doesn’t shine.
If they would have crossed the Atlantic
And I’d have been born in the States,
From the age that I am, I’d have seen Vietnam
And I may have been killed, with my mates.
I admit, they could not stay in Europe.
There was nothing for them over there.
A place where our past is destroyed, by the Nazis,
So we had to make lives elsewhere.
The Amazon seemed a bit risky
And the far eastern heat makes you ill;
An African Jew is no good in a coup.
We were better off in Stamford Hill.
While the rest of the world has attractions
There are troubles throughout, as we see.
So although I complain, it is here I’ll remain,
Cold and wet in the land of the free.