What’s this English the EDL defend?

What’s this English,

The EDL defend,

A mythical dream of 1958,

White bread, white faces

And maiden aunts cycling

To evensong under a northern sky,

A Butcher’s Apron

Snapping in the wind?

What’s this English,

The EDL defend,

Pathetic Alf Garnetts

Bending the knee

To ancient privilege?

 

 

So what’s this English

The EDL defend?

Is it the English of the Huguenots

Who worked in silk,

The Irish who dug and built,

The Jews who worked and thrived,

the Muslim workers

who struck for Altab Ali,

the Windrush West Indians

who became the muscles

of our public services?

 

What’s this English

The EDL defend,

Our good old brew

From the hills

Of Kenya and Assam,

An aromatic curry,

A piquant pasta,

A kebab on a Saturday night?

Or is it the full English

With a dash of nice brown sauce

Full of English syrup, sugar,

Dates and tamarind?

 

You can stuff this English

The EDL defend,

Slurred speech and red, sweaty faces,

Upside down Union flags

And tempers as short

As a crushed Woodbine.

You can roll it into the shape

Of a sweet English rose

And shove it up

Your rotund, racist arse,

Your fascist, English Khyber pass.

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