A Song of Patriotic Prejudice (Flanders & Swann)

The English, the English, the English are best

I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest.

The rottenest bits of these islands of ours

We've left in the hands of three unfriendly powers

Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot

You'll find he's a stinker, as likely as not.

The Scotsman is mean, as we're all well aware

And bony and blotchy and covered with hair

He eats salted porridge, he works all the day

And he hasn't got bishops to show him the way!

The English, the English, the English are best

I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest  …

The Irishman now our contempt is beneath

He sleeps in his boots and he lies in his teeth

He blows up policeman or so I have heard

And blames it on Cromwell or William the Third

The English are noble the English are nice

And worth any other at double the price

The Welshman’s dishonest, he cheats when he can

And little and dark, more like monkey than man

He works underground with a lamp in his hat

And sings far too loud, far too often, and flat

And crossing the Channel, one cannot say much

For the French and the Spanish, the Danish or Dutch

The Germans are German, the Russians are red,

And the Greeks and Italians eat garlic in bed!

The English are moral, the English are good

And clever and modest and misunderstood.

And all the world over, each nation's the same

They've simply no notion of playing the game

They argue with umpires, they cheer when they've won

And they practice beforehand which ruins the fun!

The English, the English, the English are best

So up with the English and down with the rest.