They traded the warmth of a Barbados beach

For London’s damp and its smogs

But met with a welcome as cold as the rain

“No Irish No Blacks and No Dogs”.

 

Some fought for the motherland during the war

Following in Montys’ tracks

So didn’t expect that they’d ever hear

“No Irish No Dogs and No Blacks”

 

They kept London moving, helped build it again

Leant shoulders to wheels and to cogs

And then after work would look for a home

“No Irish No Blacks and No Dogs”.

 

But Rachmanist landlords held out a hand

“Vacancies Here” their signs read

“Lettings Available – 9 to a room

With relays of 3 to a bed”

 

“What colour is their skin?” asked Winston to Clyde

“These men they say live in bogs”

“Does it rub off on bedsheets like ours?” laughs Clyde

“No Irish No Blacks and No Dogs”.

 

“I thought we were on our way up in the world

When we left our wood and tin shacks;

I can’t write to Esme to join me out here”

“No Irish No Dogs and No Blacks”