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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

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