Lyrics - The English Scheme by Fall

O'er grassy dale, and lowland scene
Come see, come hear, the
English
Scheme.
The lower-class, want brass, bad chests, scrounge fags.
The clever ones tend to emigrate
Like your psychotic big brother, who left home
For jobs in
Holland,
Munich,
Rome
He's thick but he struck it rich, switch
The commune crap, camp bop, middle-class, flip-flop
Guess that's why they end up in bands
He's the green piece in us all
He's the creep-creep in us all
Condescends to black men
Very nice to them
They talk of
Chile while driving through
Haslingdon
You got sixty hour weeks, and stone stone toilet back-gardens
Peter
Cook's jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups
Point their fingers at
America
Down pokey quaint streets in
Cambridge
Cycles our distant spastic heritage
Its a gay red, roundhead, army career, grim head
If we was smart we'd emigrate

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