Now we are England on our own
Shackles of Europe over thrown
Can we return to pound shillings and pence
Will we now put up a fence
Will we revert to potatoes with dirt
To half a cucumber not a portion
And also now without caution
Spring not salad onions
But I hear you cry
What about ounces and pounds
19 eleven and six
Rods Poles pecks and perches
Chains and furlongs
Teenage kicks
Where are 5 pounds of King Edwards
Cauliflowers with leaves
Webb’s gone to seed
2 Bob bits
Three farthings
Penny, ha’penny .
I tell you where my friend
The drain of history and progress
But I take comfort in all this
As I nurse my very British warm imperial pint
That they will never, never dare to take
Or am I dreaming ?
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