It doesn't matter if I goes Inside our local Workman's Club To 'ave a game o' dominoes, Or drops into the nearest pub; In 'arf a moment in 'll walk Some bloke as starts a fiscal talk.
An' if I ever tries, per'aps, To criticise this scheme o' Joe's, There's always some excited chaps As leads from arguments to blows. An' then we throws the things about, Till someone calls the chucker-out.
They states that England's gone to pot, That ev'ry trade is lost to 'er; An' if I dares to say it's not, They calls me 'Little Englander'! (On one I 'ad to use my fist: 'E said I was a 'hoptimist. ')
Nor yet it ain't no furrin foes As thus belittles Britain's fame; It's partisans o' good old Joe's As brings discredit on 'er name, By shouting out to ev'ryone That little England's day is done.
One night Jim Adams sez to me, 'Ole England's rotten to the core! ' An' when 'e finds I don't agree, 'E ups an' calls me a pro-Boer! (I 'ad a word or two with 'im; 'E's still in 'orspital, is Jim! )
If them so-called Imperialists Is blokes as runs their country down, Upon 'er ruined state insists, An' tries to blacken 'er renown, Then I for one 'ud much prefer To be a 'Little Englander.'
If wot their politicians styles The 'patriotic' point of view Is saying that these British Isles 'As lost their trade an' credit too, I ain't a patriot no more: I'm just a hoptimist pro-Boer!
I'm not the sort o' chap as blames Them folks as don't agree wi' me, But when they calls me silly names Because my fiscal views is Free, It don't require no further flaws To see the weakness o' their cause.
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