The europeans are coming

the Europeans are coming,
chic and debonair
snake skin boots trouser suits
their sunnies in their hair
marching down the platform, wheeling Samsonite
jet black curls, fox hair, pearls
the Europeans alight

the Europeans are coming,
largesse and savoir faire
Gauloise tip on lower lip
dark, mysterious stare
they pass through immigration, Carlota, Sven, Jean-Yves
'bonjour! ?hola! wie geht's? ?a va?'
les europ?ens arrivent

welcome Europeans
to our cool and cultured shores
to Millionaire, Cherie Blair
The Sun and Barrymore
we'll give you fry-ups, jellied eels, scones and Earl Grey tea
well may you shrug, aloof and smug
but you're Europeans, you see

yes, you're Europeans
a metricated throng
you're from a land that drives left-hand
its clocks an hour wrong
your pubs don't kick you out at night, you let your kids drink
wine
recycle trash, cool on hash
your Europeans, that's fine

but we're not Europeans
we joined the EEC
to replace our spam with yer Parma Ham
cheap and tariff-free
we don't want yer currency, yer federal euro-state
nah, we're not Europeans!
we're British! and we're Great!

you Europeans will take away
our national sovereignty
our pasties, pies, our W.I.
our Cilla on TV
you'll take away our yard of ale, the Queen Mum and the Dome
Sue Barker's hair and Albert Square
Europeans, stay at home!

hands off our British Parliament!
hands off our fair queen Bess!
our British pound, the underground,
our steel and NHS,
our manufactured popstars, our cars and haute cuisine
(if Belgo's shut, there's Pizza Hut)
hands off! or we'll get mean!

we'll send a foreign minister
to wrench us from your grip
no heated shouts, he'll just opt out
with Oxbridge upper lip
he'll save our distant diffidence, our service with a frown
our absentee identity
he won't let us down

for we want yer caf? latte,
we want yer tapas bars
yer vin du pays, Houlier,
Verdi, H?agen-Dasz
we'll have Versace, Perrier, Pomagne, Piaggio
But we're not Europeans
We're British! Now you know.

Europeans, welcome!
listen as we sing
of Glory days: Britannia's waves!
Chariot's low swing!
we'll sing it in the Albert Hall
by Wembley's crumbling towers
we've got Buck House and Foot and Mouth
we're Europe's Super Power!

copyright 2001 a brunker