[Josiah.]

The year is 2019. The decade is coming to a close, a snap general election has resulted in the Prime Minister being Olivia off of Love Island, Prince Louis has taken the throne after accidentally killing his entire family in the same way that Maggie Simpson shot Mr. Burns, and the UK has finally left the European Union, with the final deal resting on us gaining sovereignty in exchange for having Lynda Woodruff be the new voice of the London Underground. As half a nation celebrates and the other half drown their sorrows in industrial strength vodka, a group of TiBB regulars gather in a pub somewhere in Middle England to reminisce about the good old days…




Gammon Ray & The Brexit Club – "1952"

(to the tune of 2002 by Anne-Marie)

Spoiler:

Youtube video

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Verse 1 [Kirk]:
I will always remember
The days that I still miss
We had snow in December
And real lard in our chips
No, it's never been better
Than the old days of 1952 (ooh)

Verse 2 [Alf]:
When we weren’t in the EU
We could smoke inside the pub
English doctors would see you
Shops sold no Polish grub
Faces white as a feather, wherever
And our passports were blue

Pre-Chorus [parmnion]:
Washing down a trout with a pint of stout
With an England flag, smoking fags
Stuff kids today can’t comprehend
And I tell you this, say

Chorus [All]:
Oops, I wish we could all go back to another time
Hold up, when we’d breathe smog, fight war with France
And send our children down the mines, uh
Be white and male in this century
And you’re bombarded with hate, uh
This now sounds like Serious Debates

Verse 3 [Northern Monkey]:
We’d keep our front doors unlocked
And eat real British cheese
Now my Union Jack’s mocked
By snowflakes and MPs
So piss off with your small talk
And take us back to 1952 (ooh)

Pre-Chorus [Brillopad]:
Playing croquet to songs by Doris Day
On an old radio, but I had polio
So I was stuck in bed and had no friends
Yeah it wasn’t great, say

Chorus [All]:
Oops, I’m stuck in an idealised version of the past
Hold up, you could say I’ve got a biased memory
But to listen I just can’t arsed, uh
Call me racist or prejudiced
Or one of them xylophobes, uh
But sometimes I wish that we still ruled the globe
Like the days I’m dreaming of
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
The days I’m dreaming of
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

[LeatherTrumpet barges in, shirtless, with the Saltire wrapped around his waist like a kilt.]

Pre-Chorus [LeatherTrumpet]:
Me and my peers waited sixty years
Now we’re in charge, let’s knight Farage
Take control and bring back the cane
Aye, now

[LeatherTrumpet urinates on the floor, then leaves.]

Chorus [All]:
Oops, I just voted for Brexit, so say bye, bye, bye
Hold up, bye to free movement, and jobs, and brie
And au revoir to decent wine, uh
Vote for Leave and if you believe
All your dreams will soon come true, uh
As long as you dream that we all look like you

Like the days we’re dreaming of
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Like the days we’re dreaming of
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
I’ve called immigration on your mum
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
She’s going back to Kazakhstan
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Like the days we’re dreaming of, of, of

[tired after a long day of singing and taking back control, the regulars fall asleep in their chairs. Kazanne comes in and wipes the dribble off their chins.]

The end. I hope.

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