Some clever fellow passes
A rude remark about
The poor old Middle Classes.
The rich we stand saluting –
The poor can do no wrong;
But I was born in Tooting;
And this shall be my song:
Chorus: Thank God for the Middle Classes
And give three hearty cheers:
I don't care that for the Proletariat,
Nor yet for the House of Peers.
For the backbone of Britain,
Historians all agree,
Old England's spine is me and mine,
So God bless mine and me.
I work for a wobbly wage,
I live in a wobbly villa
The furniture by Drage,
The oils by Aunt Vanilla.
In theory pugilistic,
In fact, I never strike,
I don't say I'm artistic
But I do know what I like!
Chorus: Thank God for the Aspidistra,
Three cheers for the antimacassar too,
I've three pink stocks in the window-box,
And I've called the house ‘Belle Vue.'
For the back-bone of Britain,
Britannia's vertebrae,
Old England's spine is me and min,
So God bless mine and me.
When all the world sees red,
I'm still as sweet as honey;
I never lose my head,
I only lose my money.
I neither beg nor borrow –
I grumble, but I pay,
And I shall do to-morrow
Just what I've done to-day.
Chorus: So thank God for the Albert Memorial,
Three cheers for Lipton's tea:
And if His Majesty the King wants any little thing,
He's only to come to me.
For the back-bone of Britain,
In my considered view,
Is the unassuming cuss in the corner of the ‘bus,
So God bless me and you.
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