Hope dies last At least it should Instead it's that twat Sat in the pub Up he gets When you head to the bar Back from London? Not for me taa Down there once A few year back Full of them Pakis And niggers, no blacks Losing your temper You swallow your beer Ask the ignorant twat How he got here? Tonight pal? I drove I'm leaving the car I'll walk back I think Christ it's not far You look at him blankly Toning it down The twat is now puzzled Here comes the frown No, you your family Where are you from? I'm Irish and Welsh There aint no pure pom He rolls up his sleeve Revealing his ink St George, his mum A dragon...you think Lovely you say The colours the lot Amazing the skill When they're out of the cot His heart rate racing He's been here before The penny now sailing Towards the floor I'm English you cunt I served for our queen She's yours you can have her Outside if you're keen? You stamp and you stamp And nothing is said Enjoy the silence. The racist is dead.