Now we are England on our own

Shackles of Europe over thrown

Can we return to pound shillings and pence 

Will we now put up a fence

 

Will we revert to potatoes with dirt

To half a cucumber not a portion

And also now without caution

Spring not salad onions

 

But I hear you cry

What about ounces and pounds

19 eleven and six

Poles pecks and perches 

Chains and furlongs

Teenage kicks

 

Where are 5 pounds of King Edwards

Cauliflowers with leaves

Webb’s gone to seed

2 Bob bits

Three farthings

Penny, halfpenny .

 

I tell you where my friend

The drain of history and progress

But I take comfort in all this

As I nurse my very British warm imperial pint

 

That they will never, never dare to take 

Or am I dreaming ?