Don't Make Fun of the Fair

Noël CowardNoël Coward 

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Noël Coward

Sir Noël Peirce Coward (16 December 1899 – 26 March 1973) was an English playwright, composer, director, actor and singer, known for his wit, flamboyance, and what Time magazine called "a sense of personal style, a combination of cheek and chic, pose and poise". more »

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We're proud to say in every way
We're ordinary folk
But please observe
We still preserve 
Our sturdy hearts evoke
Although we're servants of the state
We may have been coerced
As we've been told to celebrate
We'll celebrate or burst

Though while we brag 
Our shoulders sag
Beneath a heavy yoke
We all get terribly heated
If it's treated as a joke

Oh don't make fun of the festival
Don't make fun of the fair
We darn rotten british
Must learn to be skittish
And give an impression of devil may care
To the wise wise world

We'll sing god for harry
And if it turns out alright
Knight gerald barry
Clear the national decks my lads
Everyone of us counts
Grab the travellers cheques my lads
And pray that none of them bounce

Face the future and his maid
And pray for further marshal aide
Have the toast from cavel-cade
Drastically re-written

Peace and dignity we may lack
But wave a jolly trade unions jack
Hooray for the festival

We've never been
Exactly keen 
On showing of our swank
But as they say the gay display 
Means money in the bank

We'll make the dreadful welcome ring
From                    
And cheer and shout and laugh and sing
Before we cut our throats
We know we're caught
But must support
This patriotic prank
And though we'd rather have shot ourselves
We've got ourselves to thank

Oh don't make fun of the festival
Don't make fun of the fair
We must pull together 
In spite of the weather
That dampens our spirits
And straightens our hair

Let the people sing
Even though they shiver
Roses red and noses mauve
Over the river

Though the area is fairly small
                    
Take a snooze in a concert hall
At least it's warmer than home

Blow your trumpets
Roll your drums
Cross your fingers
Hold your thumbs
Even if nobody comes
Don't be                     

If no oversees raid appears
We'll have to work for a thousand years
To pay for the festival

don't make fun of the festival
Don't make fun of the fair
We must have a look at the cookery book
To prevent us from spreading alarm and despair
We can serve whale steaks
When the weathers hotter
                    
What's wrong with otter
                    
Learn to dance in the dark
Build the sunday observers boys
A shrine in battersea park
Prance about in funny hats
Show the foreign diplomats
That our                     
Milder than a kitten

We believe in the right to strike
But know we bloody well got to like
Our own darling festival
Hooray for the festival
We'll pay for the festival

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