(after Horace Epode IX, Quando repostum)
When are people going to appreciate what Winston’s done,
give toasts and stop moaning about rations?
Will you join me Mrs L.? What’s your favourite tipple,
best sweet sherry is it?
You’ll play won’t you; tinkle the ivories,
but none of that slushy Mantovani stuff?
It’s not all that long ago we gave Mussolini our bit of Jubaland
and then what the hell does he do?
Goes off and snuggles up with Germany
and has the cheek to stand against us!
We could all have been into Nazi tart by now;
Adolf’s Braun, instead of our brawn.
We’d have ended up doing poncey exercises
out in the fresh air.
We’d not be sitting in here that’s for sure –
drinking a pint of Newcastle.
I tell you, if it hadn’t been for old Winnie we’d all be drinking vino,
and tucking into spaghetti,
and wearing black shirts, and kissing both cheeks;
either that or sporting German jackboots.
Rule Britannia – we’ll take anybody on eh?
The bulldog won’t lie down.
Rule Britannia – three cheers for Kitchener and Gallipoli
and those who died in the first lot –
as Lloyd George said, we squeezed the lemon ‘til the pips squeaked,
then thanks to Winnie, we’ve done it all again,
by fighting them on the beaches
in the fields, the streets and the hills.
They just had to go with their tails between their legs
when the Americans joined in.
They say that Adolf shot his bloody self in a bunker;
couldn’t surrender in person!
Come on, drink up Mrs. L.
don’t listen to Billy’s whining;
you’d think we lost to hear him talk.
We should celebrate the peace we died for.
Come on, let’s have a hair of the dog.