Oh, they're moving
Father's grime to build a sewer
They're moving him regardless
of expense
They've dug up his remains
to put in five -inch drives
To irrigate some posh bloke's residence
His residence
Now what's the use of having a religion,
if when you're dead your troubles never cease?
If some posh city chap wants a pipeline to his privy,
he'll never let a
British workman
rest in peace.
Oh, rest in peace.
Now in his lifetime,
father never was a quitter.
Never.
I'm sure that he won't be a quitter now
But when the job's complete
He'll hold that privy seat
And he'll only let them
go when he'll allow
When he'll allow
Now won't there be some bloomin'
consternation
And won't these city
chappies rant and rive
Which is more than they deserve
For having a bleedin' nerve
To muck around
With a
British workman's gripe
Oh, my old man said, follow the man
And don't dilly -dally on the way
I'm with the man, with me old man in it I'm for a gun,
with me old cockle in it
I'm getting it, I'm getting
it, I'm getting it
I'm not giving, I lost my way
And don't know where to roam
Oh, you can't trust the spaces
Like the old -time coppers
And you can't find your way home