They bought the land, we understand
With hard cash fair and square
But as they are not English folk
They cannot build their own park there
On land that they themselves own
As a blockade blocks the load
Of supplies for drainage and ancillary works
So they don't camp on the road
For their town is picturesque
In the heart of Old England
The truth's if your not white, English, Protestant
Your skin they cannot stand.

They will go to church on Sunday
Pompous righteous and proud
And boast how successful they are
How they gypsies were not allowed
To build a PROPER park, on land THEY own
By proper English folk
And as I read the comments of one
I thought how it was for racism a cloak
I live in an English house
That for some hundreds of years did stand
Built by Irish hands for English folk
Upon stolen land.

And the people dispossessed by Cromwell
And to Connaught could not go
And have walked the roads years since
The same hatred's they know.
England is equal they say for all
As long as your white
British and Protestant
Then you enjoy every right.
But should you not be so, alas
No rights is there for you
To be as bold to BUY your land!
What a thing for a gypsy to do!

You cannot camp upon the road
The locals don't like the stranger
Your children are running wild
And are a source of danger.
You are the least of Gods children
And for you they do not care
They wish you did not exist
Were not among them, were elsewhere
They glory of the beauty of England
But hate is in their heart
Pretty houses hide hateful minds
Keep THEM from ME apart!