| Back in 1940 |
| My Grandfather died |
| Fightin' in a spitfire |
| Over at Kent countryside |
| Since then my country |
| Never really got back off it’s knees |
| Uncle Joe put paid to That and I was born late seventies |
| I heard that over in England |
| Men were gettin' paid |
| More than I earn in a week |
| Working just one day |
| I thought, «What the Hell? |
| I’ll go give it my best shot.» |
| Yeah, it’s gotta be better than nothin' |
| And that’s exactly what I’ve got |
| I caught a train and I headed west to sail across the sea |
| Pretty soon I had a job workin' in a factory |
| Well, the work was hard |
| It was hot as Hell |
| My fingers bleed and my blisters swelled |
| Long, long hours back racked with pain |
| Just me and Sergei |
| From Ukraine |
| When I… When I got my first paycheck |
| It was minus food and board |
| «Not much left for me.» I thought |
| So this is my reward |
| So when my First night off in ten |
| I wandered into town |
| Yeah, I just |
| Wanted to have some fun |
| And have a look around |
| I met a girl oh, oh, oh She had blond hair and curls oh, oh, oh We got along… |
| I sung her a Polish love song |
| We were kissin' in the car park |
| When I heard someone come up behind me Suddenly I’m surrounded |
| By a group of men who what to hurt me They said «You're not |
| Welcome in our country. |
| We’re sick of givin' to all and |
| Sundry |
| I don’t work to try and rob |
| I said, «Mr. You |
| Wouldn’t want my job.» |
| And then I’m down on the floor |
| Their boots connecting with my jaw |
| Round, round, |
| Round my head is spinning |
| I don’t think I can take much more |
| My girl is screamin' |
| I think I’m going to be killed |
| Just like my grandfather |
| My Polish blood on England’s soil is spilt |
| Just like my grandfather |
| My Polish blood |
| On England soil is spilt |