The sandbags are all still on order
Clouds are beginning to mass
“Do you think we can handle the water?”
Said the vicar to the woman from the press
“It’s only rain,” she told her faithful readers
“We’re British it’s what we do the best”
Flood, Flood, Flood
It’s coming down old Union Street
Flood, Flood, Flood
It’ll only be a couple of feet
Miss Mary finds it hard to sleep
She puts up her baffles every night
Only to find that in the morning
Everything is all right
Things haven’t always been this way
It’s happened to her twice before
Her caution is not an obsession
Just the way to keep the water from her door
Flood, Flood, Flood
Choking her potentilla
Flood, Flood, Flood
She knows next time it’s gonna kill her
Policemen tell us not to worry
Everything is under control
If you’re away you really mustn’t hurry
We’ve put an extra chopper on patrol
The rain it never did cease
Firemen couldn’t pump it away
Prisoners have all been released
To drown in the brown light of day
Miss Mary sensed it coming
Decided not to greet the day
Couldn’t bear to see her books under water
Her garden swirling and grey
Press woman stands on a car top
Telling anyone who can hear
“It’s not my fault! Wasn’t my idea!”
Flood, Flood, Flood
On the third clap of thunder
Flood, Flood, Flood
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
Albion is going under
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