Scowl

They're out of sorts in Sunderland And terribly cross in Kent, They're dull in Hull And the Isle of Mull Is seething with discontent, They're nervous in Northumberland And Devon is down the drain, They're filled with wrath On the firth of Forth And sullen on Salisbury Plain, In Dublin they're depressed, lads, Maybe because they're Celts For Drake is going West, lads, And so is everyone else. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Misery's here to stay. There are bad times just around the corner, There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky And it's no good whining About a silver lining For we know from experience that they won't roll by, With a scowl and a frown We'll keep our peckers down And prepare for depression and doom and dread, We're going to unpack our troubles from our old kit bag And wait until we drop down dead. From Portland Bill to Scarborough They're querulous and subdued And Shropshire lads Have behaved like cads From Berwick-on-Tweed to Bude, They're mad at Market Harborough And livid at Leigh-on-Sea, In Tunbridge Wells You can hear the yells Of woe-begone bourgeoisie. We all get bitched about, lads, Whoever our vote elects, We know we're up the spout, lads. And that's what England expects. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Trouble is on the way. There are bad times just around the corner, The horizon's gloomy as can be, There are black birds over The grayish cliffs of Dover And the rats are preparing to leave the BBC We're an unhappy breed And very bored indeed When reminded of something that Nelson said. While the press and the politicians nag nag nag We'll wait until we drop down dead. From Colwyn Bay to Kettering They're sobbing themselves to sleep, The shrieks and wails In the Yorkshire dales Have even depressed the sheep. In rather vulgar lettering A very disgruntled group Have posted bills On the Cotswold Hills To prove that we're in the soup. While begging Kipling's pardon There's one thing we know for sure If England is a garden We ought to have more manure. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Suffering and dismay. There are bad times just around the corner And the outlook's absolutely vile, There are Home Fires smoking From Windermere to Woking And we're not going to tighten our belts and smile, smile, smile, At the sound of a shot We'd just as soon as not Take a hot water bottle and go to bed, We're going to un-tense our muscles till they sag sag sag And wait until we drop down dead. There are bad times just around the corner, We can all look forward to despair, It's as clear as crystal From Bridlington to Bristol That we can't save democracy and we don't much care If the Reds and the Pinks Believe that England stinks And that world revolution is bound to spread, We'd better all learn the lyrics of the old 'Red Flag' And wait until we drop down dead. A likely story Land of Hope and Glory, Wait until we drop down dead. [When Noel later used this number in his Las Vegas cabaret act, he adapted it to the American milieu, as he did with many of the topical numbers] There Are Bad Times Just Around The Corner [American Lyric] They're nervous in Nigeria And terribly cross in Crete, In Bucharest They are so depressed They're frightened to cross the street, They're sullen in Siberia And timid in Turkestan, They're sick with fright In the Isle of Wight And jittery in Japan, The Irish groan and shout, lads, Maybe because they're Celts, They know they're up the spout, lads, And so is everyone else. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Trouble is on the way. There are bad times just around the corner, There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky And it's no use whining About a silver lining For we know from experience that they won't roll by, With a scowl and a frown We'll keep our spirits down And prepare for depression and doom and dread, We're going to unpack our troubles from our old kit bag And wait until we drop down dead. There are bad times just around the corner, The horizon's gloomy as can be, There are black birds over They grayish cliffs of Dover And the vultures are hovering round the Christmas tree We're an unhappy breed And ready to stampede When we're asked to remember what Lincoln said, We're going to un-tense our muscles till they sag sag sag And wait until we drop down dead. They're morbid in Mongolia And querulous in Quebec, There's not a man In Baluchistan Who isn't a nervous wreck, In Maine the melancholia Is deeper than tongue can tell, In Monaco All the croupiers know They haven't a hope in Hell. In far away Australia Each wallaby's well aware The world's a total failure Without any time to spare. Hurray, hurray, hurray! Suffering and dismay. There are bad times just around the corner, We can all look forward to despair, It's as clear as crystal From Brooklyn Bridge to Bristol That we can't save Democracy And we don't much care. At the sound of a shot We'd just as soon as not Take a hot-water bad and retire to bed And while the press and the politicians nag nag nag We'll wait until we drop down dead. There are bad times just around the corner And the outlook's absolutely vile, You can take this from us That when they Atom-bomb us We are not going to tighten our belts and smile smile smile, We are in such a mess It couldn't matter less If a world revolution is just ahead, We'd better all learn the lyrics of the old 'Red Flag' And wait until we drop down dead. A likely story Land of Hope and Glory, Wait until we drop down dead.

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