They Wave Their Flags

Well they waved their flags when Thatcher died
and they laid her in the ground,
like they waved their flags and 'gotcha' cried
when the Belgrano went down

And they waved their flags when Georgie Porge
was born, the people's prince.
Just like they waved them for St George,
and they've waved them ever since.

They waved them on the beaches,
they waved them on the land,
and whatever history teaches
us, it teaches flag in hand.

They've put their flags on swords and shields
as they've marched us into war.
Then they've looked upon the killing fields,
and they've waved their flags some more.

They waved their flags around the Earth,
and full of national pride,
they waved their flags on foreign turf
where more young men have died.

They've hung their flags on mountain peaks.
They've hung them on the moon.
They've hung them out on Irish streets.
They've hung them out too soon.

They wave their flags with racist cries,
and jackboots on their feet,
and they waved their flags as a young man dies
in cold blood on the street.

Now they wave their flags from their vans and jags,
and at Twickers and Wembley.
But ask not for whom they wave their flags....
'cause it's not for you or me.