Lyrics English Scheme - The 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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