| Lyrics: | The Iron Lady (Maggie May)
I'm an able-bodied seaman, one of Plymouth's native
sons;
Oh, the Navy's been my life since I left school.
Well, I joined to have a job; it
was either that or rob,
And I never thought I'd curse Britannia's rule.
But I hadn't
really bargained for you, dear Maggie May,
Though I'd heard it said that war would set us
right,
And when the Argies did invade, I should have known that you'd
decide
That, to show that you're a man, we'd have to fight.
cho: Oh Maggie, Maggie
May, you have sent us far away
To fight upon the Falklands' cruel shore;
In the
freezing southern ocean, we're caught in the
commotion
Of your useless
bloody politician's war.
Well, it's true the Falkland islanders had reason to
complain,
For no one likes to vanish in the night.
And it's clear to any punter that the
generals in their junta
Just wanted an excuse to start a fight.
Ah, but Maggie, just like
them, you weren't too popular back home
And the thought of war just filled your heart with
glee,
"We will fight them on the beaches," could be heard in all your
speeches,
And the whole damn Navy had to go to sea.
cho:
As the fleet
sailed out of Plymouth, they cheered us on our way,
And the band played all those patriotic
songs;
And the girls we left to cry never thought to ask us why,
And we said that we'd be
back before too long.
Oh, it's nice to hear the public is behind us, one and all;
That
they think the end will justify the means,
And that until our flag is flying, it's okay to do
some dying.
Well you can tell that, Maggie May, to the
Marines!
cho:
Well, you've spent a thousand million on your stupid little
war,
Not to mention all those widows left to grieve;
And I can't see why, instead, you
don't give half a million quid
To each Falklander, and ask them all to leave.
For, while
it's hard to leave the island where you were born and
bred,
And it's hard to
say goodbye to all your friends,
It's even harder still to die, lose an arm, a leg, an
eye,
When you know there are no winners in the end.
cho:
So, here I sit
on board our frigate in chilly Falkland sound,
Dodging missiles, bombs and bullets by the
ton,
And If I get back to Blighty, I'll give thanks to the Almighty,
Whether Maggie's
little war is lost or won.
And the next time I see Maggie or her little Tory crew
Waving
flags and spouting patriotic crap,
I'll suggest that they embark, go to war just for a
lark,
And maybe die to keep the pink upon the map.
cho:
(Ian Robb.
Recorded on the Rose and Crown, Folk Legacy)
@war @parody @politics @sailor
see also
MAGGIMAY
filename[ FALKLND
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