CHORUS:
I don't want to join the army,
I don't want to go to war.
I'd rather hang around Piccadilly Underground,
Living off the earnings of a high born lady,
I don't want a bayonet up me arsehole,
I don't want me bollocks shot away,
I'd rather stay in England, in merrie, merrie England,
And fornicate me fucking life away cor blimey.
Monday night I touched her on the ankle,
Tuesday night I touched her on the knee,
On Wednesday night success, I lifted up her dress,
Thursday night she said "cor blimey",
Friday I 'ad me 'and upon it,
On Saturday night she gave me balls a squeeze,
But Sunday after supper, I rammed the fucker up 'er,
And now I'm paying seven and six a week cor blimey.
CHORUS:
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