Thank God I'm English

Thank God I'm English

As I lie, heat sealed to the canvas
Of a deck chair that's seen better days,
I know that the sun is there somewhere,
By the varying brightness of haze.

I'm going to stay here until lunch time,
When the sun cream should just have run out.
It's hot and it's sticky and humid,
But we English know what it's about.

It's Summer, you know, and it's warmer
Than Winter or Autumn or Spring.
So we take off our tops and show muscles,
And white bits and pimples and things.

I mean to hold on to tradition
But I'm tempered with sense, and well bred.
I might open my shirt a few buttons,
But the hanky stays stuck on my head.

Foreigners, such as the French, may
Bare bosoms and bottoms and such,
But thank God I'm English, and Northern,
And don't go in for that much!