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The Iron Lady (Maggie May) (Ian Robb) 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: Copyright Ian Robb. Recorded on the Rose and Crown, Folk Legacy) see also Maggie May RG
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!