War of Words
Our zees are zeds, our maths is plural,
Routs are rooted, herbs are heard,
And Y’s are added to news and mural,
Post and petrol are preferred.
And then, we spell things diff’rently,
Like U’s in colour, E’s in grey,
We favour biscuits with our tea,
And get our chips from a takeaway,
The trouble is, we’re losing.
These days, all the art we get,
The culture and the etiquette
Is blowing to our shores –
And when we make our own, we’re choosing
Ways to make it more like yours.
We’ve lost our national confidence, I guess,
We seem to export less,
As our markets flood with Yankee slang.
And though we tut and though we chide,
Our countrymen will each decide
To stop the war and join your gang –
When it’s too hard to ignore,
And to hold the line becomes a bore,
And we finally accept we just don’t care.
We’re nearly there, I swear,
When we must admit defeat once more –
Just like we did before – oh yeah !
Rhyming Couplets 