It must be England's dark night of the soul
Not only has our football team crashed out
With no excuse whatever possible
Let's face it, we're shit at our national sport
With gentlemanly rules we just about
Managed, but hard work, camaraderie
Working, being together, we fall short
Outside of strict compulsion - the army
Maybe suits us OK with our duty
Drilled into our thick heads, backed up with sole
Of boot on backside, minimum of thought
Needed, and minimum of empathy
Out of the EU, and impossible
To win Eurovision, we're nerds or louts
Fri 1 July
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