The working class Can kiss my ****, I've got the foreman's job at last. I'm out of work, And on the dole You can stuff the red flag Up your hole.
'Twas on Gibraltar's rock so fair, I saw a maiden lying there And as she lay in sweet repose, A puff of wind blew up her clothes, A sailor who was passing by Tipped his hat and winked his eye, And then he saw to his despair She had the red flag flying there.