We're modest and not pushy,
Patient waiting's what we do,
But woe betide the brazen
Who attempt to jump a queue.
For months we long for sunshine
When there's snow or rain or sleet,
Then we get our two-day summer,
And complain about the heat.
We really do like moaning,
Whether justifiably.
But not much can't be righted
By a nice strong cup of tea.
We think taking part, not winning
Ought to motivate a man,
(Though try telling that to Churchill,
Or your average football fan.)
The Brits can be identified
When in some foreign place,
By the socks worn with the sandals
And the panda sunburnt face.
We think we're cosmopolitan
But everywhere we go,
Defiantly speak English,
Our diction loud and slow.
Yes, we venture from these islands,
Though there's still no place like home:
We miss our soaps, we miss our dog,
Our garden with its gnome.
We're the tenements of Glasgow,
We're our coastline's rugged beauty,
We may tend towards the lazy,
Or our monarch's sense of duty.
We are strawberries at Wimbledon,
We're Henley's royal regatta,
The Ritz for tea....the mushy pea...
And Mars bars fried in batter.
Just why we're contradictory
It something of a mystery,
Though we may discover answers
By looking at our history.
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