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A Place Called England
The Young'Uns Lyrics


We have lyrics for 'A Place Called England' by these artists:

June Tabor I rode out on a bright May morning Like a hero…

We have lyrics for these tracks by The Young'Uns:

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The lyrics can frequently be found in the comments below, by filtering for lyric videos or browsing the comments in the different videos below.
Comments from YouTube:

Joshua Truksa

I rode out on a bright May morning, like a hero from a song
Looking for a place called England, trying to find where I belong
Couldn’t find the old flood meadow, or the house that I once knew
No trace of the little river, or the garden where I grew

I saw town and I saw country, motorway and sinker state
Rich man on his rolling acres, poor man still outside the gate
Retail park and burger kingdom, prarie field and factory farm
Run by men who think that England’s just a place to park their car

But as the train pulled from the station, through the wastelands of despair
From the corner of my eye, a brightness filled the filthy air
Someone’s grown a patch of sunflowers, though the soil is sooty black
Marigolds and a few tomatoes, right beside the railway track

Down between the terraced houses, in between the concrete towers
Compost heaps and scarlet runners, secret gardens full of flowers
Meet a grove of scented roses, right beneath the big jet’s path
‘Bitter fortune for a garden,’ I leaned in to wave and laugh

So rise up George, and wake up Arthur, time to rouse out from your sleep,
Deck the horse with sea-green ribbons, drag the old sword from the deep
Hold the line for Dave and Daniel, as they tunnel through the clay
While the orchid in its glory soaks up sun for one more day

And come all you at home with freedom, whatever the land that gave you birth
There’s room for you, both root and branches, long as you love English earth
Room for ball and room for orchid, room for all to grow and thrive
Just less room for the rich landowner, he can stay in the Virgin Isle

For England is not flag nor empire, it’s not money, it’s not blood
It’s limestone gorge and granite fell, it’s wheeled in clay and set in mud
Blackbirds singing from the May-tree, lark ascending through the scales
Robin watching from your spade and English earth beneath your nails

So here’s two cheers for a place called England, sore abused but not yet dead
A Mr. Harding sort of England, hanging in there by a thread
Here’s two cheers for the crazy diggers, now the row shall come around
We shall plant the seed they saved us, commonwealth and common ground

J Risner

sinker state = sink estate

W Joshua Stafford

I love you lot

Grace Dalgleish

I love young ens

stevestoker

The bugger can indeed stay in the Virgin Isles.

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