The hive is creeping out, I repeat
The hive is creeping out my friend.
They wonder why so many things have changed,
The truth being they will never be the same
For the hive is creeping out.
For years in drawing rooms and brothels in the land,
Bigots and judges spit out their view.
That the Blacks are here, bloody Rag Heads to stay
And fair Old England is losing her pure blue.
Now a mix is Old Town, awash with the colour,
The slaves, dogs, workmen of old
Are shrugging their shoulders, unshackling loose chains
And confronting Britannia’s shield so bold.
The hive is creeping out my friend
Whether the sluts like it or not,
For through plunder abroad and a growing machine,
Seismic consequences in idle neighbourhoods are soon to be seen.