[Intro: Soft, repetitive piano motif. Distant crowd murmuring.]

[Verse 1: Male baritone, conversational, slightly weary]
They wave the flag of Saint George… a Turkish man in Rome’s employ…
Who slew a dragon, so they say… or some such fairy-tale ploy…
And we say that’s what makes us English? Well I suppose it’s nice to know…
That identity’s a thing you borrow… from a very long time ago…

[Chorus: Male baritone voice, Voice lifts slightly, melodic but still spoken. Distant choir humming “Jerusalem” softly.]
Oh, Andy Murray’s Scottish… till he wins… then he is British through and through…
And I’m English… or I’m British… depending on the queue…
We pick and choose the bits we like… and wave a flag on some saint’s day…
Then wonder why the world looks on… and quietly looks away…

[Verse 2: Male baritone voice, More animated, wry tone]
We sing of knights and Albion… of legends spun in red and white…
But ask us what it really means… we’ll mumble something late at night…
’Bout courtesy and fair play… and cups of tea in times of stress…
While shouting at the telly when the ref’s made yet another mess…

[Bridge: Melancholy trumpet solo, faint and nostalgic]
(Instrumental break – 8 bars)

[Verse 3: Male baritone voice, Softer, almost confessional]
It’s not that we don’t mean it… It’s not that we don’t care…
It’s just sometimes the stories that we tell… are built on empty air…
But the shirt looks good on football nights… I’ll give them that, at least…
A Turkish saint and English pride… from greatest to the least…

[Outro: Male baritone voice, Voice fades, piano simplifies to single notes]
So raise the cross… sing his name…
Just don’t you ask from whence he came…
’Cause when I’m not being English…
Well… I’m probably just… me.

[Final chord: Piano + cello sustain, then fades to silence]

