Britannia with her sheltering wings
And constantly lactating tits,
Giving safety, food and things,
To all the world, not just the Brits,
She nurses them through all their ills
And cannot let them fly the nest,
Maternal duties she fulfils,
To her own darlings and the rest,
She doles out cake and sweets and jelly
As if Camilla Batmanghelidgh
Yes England must hug every hoody,
For England is a goody goody,
And needs to show the world the way,
For all the world has gone astray.
And England cannot be the Daddy,
Not the strict and hard papa,
For every man’s some kind of baddy,
Cares naught for what his children are,
Nor what they do, or think or feel,
Nor if they choose to skip a meal,
He cares not where his children play
Hopes they’ll grow up and go away.
No, England has to be the mummy
Grow the whole world in her tummy,
Britannia with lactating tits,
Loving all the world to bits.
