Written by: mccarthy



Charles windsor who's at the door

At such an hour who's at the door

In the back of an old green cortina

You're on your way to the guillotine



Here the rabble comes

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop off your head



Hundreds of bound big business men

Hacks from 'the sun,' military men

So many rich men weep in despair

On and on into trafalgar square



Here the rabble comes

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop off your head



These once peaceful streets

The scenes of revenge you had not wished to see

Revenge is so sweet to those who have never known anything sweet



Here the rabble comes

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop off your head