There's a conversation not happening
And a lack of real debate
There's a sickening sound of silence
Around half past very late
And the oak tree waves goodbye
To every leaf that it may shed
And there's so few things to do
Now my Mother's dead

Controversy's taken holiday
Outspoken's gone to sleep
For different views on every news
You just won't hear a peep
Just what current climate needs
Like a massive hole in head
And there's so much less to do
Now my Mother's dead

So take my passport in your hand
But never you presume
Cause I'm not British, I'm not English
I'm from my Mother's womb
The following words I cry to thee
Engrave them on my tomb
Fuck being British, fuck being English
I'm from my Mother's womb
Boom boom boom

Maybe it's a family trait
Maybe just being Scouse
She's loud as Heathrow Airport
But quiet as a Baptist mouse
Now the last pair of prettiest eyes
Have rolled back into head
Nothing much to do around here
Now my Mother's dead

And any hope we held for future
Has to be our kids
Half as funny, hopefully
As brazen, God forbids
Wind your neck in, compromise
Take safer route instead
Not a chance of that
Now that my Mother's dead

So take my passport in your hand
But never you presume
Cause I'm not British, I'm not English
I'm from my Mother's womb
The following words I cry to thee
Engrave them on my tomb
Fuck being British, fuck being English
I'm from my Mother's womb
Boom boom boom

That's what I thought when life support
Machine it got turned off
And opposing corner celebrates last bell
She's either giving dear Diablo
Proper ticking off
Or the angels up there in Heaven, Hell

So take my passport in your hand
But never you presume
Cause I'm not British, I'm not English
I'm from my Mother's womb
Boom boom boom