The Briton used to boast his homestead
Was his castle grand
Until the foreigner came here
And swamped this happy land.
He worked his way into our midst
And captured all the trade
So ev'rything we use now
Seems to be all foreign-made.

Chorus: Poor old England isn't in the picture.
Ev'rything is foreign you'll agree.
The table and the chairs,
The carpet on the stairs,
Was made in Germany.
But when I go out into me garden,
Growing in a tiny plot,
Is a pretty little rose
That in me garden grows.
Seems the only bit of English that we've got.

When we cut some bread and butter
It's all foreign you'll agree.
The flour comes from Russia
And the knife from Germany.
Our butter comes from Holland
And our new-laid eggs from France.
Our tea we get from China
So we don't stand half a chance.

Chorus: Poor old England isn't in the picture.
Ev'rything is foreign you'll agree.
The table and the chairs,
The carpet on the stairs,
Was made in Germany.
But when I go up into me bedroom,
Lying in a tiny cot,
Is a lovely baby boy,
His mother's pride and joy.
That's another bit of English that we've got.