-- traditional
Who’d
be a hurrying, scurrying slave,
Off
to an office, or bound for a bank;
Who’d
be a servant from Cradle to Grave,
Counting
his wages and trying to save;
Who’d
be a manager, full of his rank,
Or
the Head of the Board at a big corporation?
Ask
us the question, we’ll tell you to stuff it;
Good
steady jobs would make us all snuff it-
Freedom’s a Borrible’s one occupation!
Our
kind of liberty’s fit for a king;
London’s our palace, we reign their supreme.
Broad
way and narrow way, what shall we sing-
Alleys as tangled as knotted-up string,
River
that winds through the smoke like a dream-
What shall we sing in our own celebration?
Ragged-arsed
renegades, never respectable,
Under
your noses, but rarely detectable-
Freedom’s a Borrible’s one occupation!