I
come from the edge of district B31 in Birmingham
And if you've some strict prejudices about Brum
I'll be confirming 'em:
We all of us live in factories;
We've all got one duff lung;
We wallop our wives on Saturday nights
And we eat our ailing young…
I come from a very tough part
Of the very rough heart of Birmingham;
Leastwise that's what we always say.
But the fact is it's very nice
Our own, our earthly paradise;
These lies are our device
To keep the southerners away.
We
say don't come to Birmingham
'Cos Brummies have placed bounties
On the ears of the wine-and-twigleteers
Who stray from the Home Counties,
'Cos what every true-born Brummie
Would most dearly love to have
Is the gory skull of a southern Tory
Nailed to the door of his outside lav. A Tory
Wo come to Brum
Else he'll come down with something nasty,
'Cos we've all got rickets, gonorrhea and piles.
Stay safe in your stockbroker belts
Broke your stocks and save your pelts
By broking 'em in Wokingham
Or Chalfont St Giles
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'Cos
they're strange indeed
There isn't any stranger breed than Suvveners
They're spuriously smart and
Curiously think they govern us.
They've all had it, done it, got one,
It doesn't matter what.
(As if we gave a toss
What they have had or done or got)
And it's a sin ter
See the way they're always
Tanned in winter
And, to prove it,
All the women walk round
With their tights off.
They think they're smart because they're rich
But they all drive Volvo cars in which
The twits can't even find the switch
To switch the flippin' lights off.
So
don't come to Birmingham
Stay south and bar the door.
We're banning the Daily Telegraph
We're jamming Radio 4.
Designer label jogging suits
Will bear a heavy toll
And no-one in green wellies
Will get through passport control
(At Rugby)
Don't come to Birmingham
If you eat lunch for dinner,
And don't come if you talk proper posh,
'Cos, come the revolution time,
Talking posh will be a crime
In all parts northwards of a line
From Bristol to the Wash.
And
we'll stay here where pints of beer
Are filled to the flowing brims
And a man's not judged by the size
Of the allotment in his Pimm's…
Don't come to Birmingham
'Cos we'll be out to get ya.
And don't think we're joking
'Cos we aren't…
And we'll follow our own path
Where a path is a path
(Not 'a parth' but 'a path')
And the council gives you a bathroom grant
And my name's 'Grant' not 'Grarnt'
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