The Rose Of England - Nick Lowe

Taking nothing but his daddy’s old bone-grip knife

He traded but a little for the wayward life

A faint heart never won fair hand

So says the Rose of England

From a-high on a hill came the clarion call

To game young men, come one, come all

Make muster 'gainst the foreign hand

That’s raised to the Rose of England

For her feckless boy she did weep and wail

Saying, Lord have mercy where did I fail?

Out my belly, then pick up a gun

And fall for the Rose of England

God knows it’s a cold outside

It’s a fry by day and a froze by night

I know it’s a hell out there

How loud the mouth when the heart don’t care

He’s damned if he don’t, and damned if he do

He’d die if he ever found out we knew

Hot potato, drop it and run

Far from the Rose of England