Come all you brave Britons, who love…

Come all you brave Britons, who love your own land, Whose Sires were so brave, so victorious and free; Who always beat France, when they take it in hand; Come join honest Britons in chorus with me.

Let's sing of our treasure, Old England's good cheer, On the profits and pleasure of stout British beer; For your wine tipling, dram sipling fellows retreat, But your beer drinking Britons will never be beat.

The French with their vineyards, are meagre and poor, For they drink of the squeezings of half ripened fruit; But we who have hop grounds to mellow our ale Are rosy and plump and have freedom to boot. Let's sing, &c.

Should the French dare invade us, when arm'd with our poles, We'll bang their bare ribs, make their lanthorn jaws ring; For we beef eating, beer drinking Britons are souls, Who will spend their last drop for their country and King. Let's sing, &c.