I′m a stranger in my own home,
And you are British to the bone,
A national treasure in red and white
Bald for the cause, par for the course,
You are what you eat; skin like sausage meat,
I hope we never have to meet,
You'll find no identity with me
I′m not the sympathetic type
The wind has changed and your face stuck
And now we′re stuck with you.
It's all too easy, far, far too easy
We are the writing on your wall,