Sweet is the sound as leather bound the well timed willow strikes
Mild the applause that cheers the cause of the bat and the ball alike
Soft is the ground where can be found a young man sound asleep
And old is the game that shares its name with the insect at his feet
How could he know the lengths to which they’d go
To claim his soul for England and the Queen
How could it be colonial brains conceived
That glorious game
It always seems to be the paradox
The bourgeoisie bat the proletariat toil in the field all day
I should be incensed by what it represents
And yet it’s a damn good game
And although I hope that the peasants revolt
And cast off the yoke of oppression
Perhaps Europe’s millions can storm the pavilions
After the afternoon session
How could he know the lengths to which they’d go
To claim his soul for England and the Queen
How could it be colonial brains conceived
That glorious game
It always seems to be the paradox ...
compositores: Neil Hannon & Thomas Walsh
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