Sometimes in our Kentish summer we still see Spitfires in the sky
It's the sound.
We run outside to catch a glimpse as they go growling by
It's the sound.
There goes another England, sacrifice and derring do
And a victory roll or two.
From the drawing board to the hand of the factory girl upon the lathe
It's the sound.
It's ordinary men and women with an ordinary part to play.
'Cause theirs was a gritty England, “Workers' Playtime” got them through
And an oily rag or two.
But sometimes I hear the story told in a voice that's not my own
It's the sound.
It's a land of hope and glory voice an anglo-klaxon over-blown
It's the sound.
Because theirs is another England, it hides behind the red, white and blue
“Rule Britannia”? No thank-you.
Because when I hear them Merlin engines in the white days of July
It's the sound.
They sing the song of how they hung a little fascist out to dry.
It's the sound.
We run outside to catch a glimpse as they go growling by
It's the sound.
There goes another England, sacrifice and derring do
And a victory roll or two.
From the drawing board to the hand of the factory girl upon the lathe
It's the sound.
It's ordinary men and women with an ordinary part to play.
'Cause theirs was a gritty England, “Workers' Playtime” got them through
And an oily rag or two.
But sometimes I hear the story told in a voice that's not my own
It's the sound.
It's a land of hope and glory voice an anglo-klaxon over-blown
It's the sound.
Because theirs is another England, it hides behind the red, white and blue
“Rule Britannia”? No thank-you.
Because when I hear them Merlin engines in the white days of July
It's the sound.
They sing the song of how they hung a little fascist out to dry.
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