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[ti:Something About England] |
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[ar:The Clash] |
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作词 : Clash |
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They say immigrants steal the hubcaps |
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Of the respected gentlemen |
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They say it would be wine an' roses |
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If England were for Englishmen again |
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I saw a dirty overcoat |
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At the foot of the pillar of the road |
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Propped inside was an old man |
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Whom time would not erode |
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When the night was snapped by sirens |
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Those blue lights circled past |
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The dance hall called for an' ambulance |
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The bars all closed up fast |
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My silence gazing at the ceiling |
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While roaming the single room |
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I thought the old man could help me |
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If he could explain the gloom |
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You really think it's all new “ |
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You really think about it too “ |
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The old man scoffed as he spoke to me |
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I'll tell you a thing or two “ |
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I missed the fourteen-eighteen war |
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But not the sorrow afterwards |
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With my father dead and my mother ran off |
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My brothers took the pay of hoods |
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The twenties turned the north was dead |
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The hunger strike came marching south |
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At the garden party not a word was said |
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The ladies lifted cake to their mouths |
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The next war began and my ship sailed |
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With battle orders writ in bed |
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In five long years of bullets and shells |
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We left ten million dead |
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The few returned to old Piccadilly |
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We limped around Lester Square |
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The world was busy rebuilding itself |
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The architects could not care |
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But how could we know when I was young |
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All the changes that were to come? |
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All the photos in the wallets on the battlefield |
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And now the terror of the scientific sun |
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There was masters an' servants an' servants an' dogs |
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They taught you how to touch your cap |
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But through strikes an' famine an' war an' peace |
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England never closed this gap |
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So leave me now the moon is up |
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But remember all the tales I tell |
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The memories that you have dredged up |
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Are on letters forwarded from hell |
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The streets were now deserted |
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The gangs had trudged off home |
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The lights clicked off in the bedsits |
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Old England was all alone |
