Jolly England stretches, reaches
plucks herself some jolly peaches
in America, her new-found land.
The Colonies, ungrateful leeches
organize with sword and speeches
sever their dependence, ain’t it grand?
Now the colony beseeches
with military might, “to each his
own,” except the grabs that we have planned.
You that’s got the world’s peaches
we will take, as finance teaches:
you don’t like it you can go pound sand.