Back in 1940
my Grandfather died,
Fightin´ in a spitfire over the Kent countryside.
Since then my country never really got back off its 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 sailed across the sea,
Pretty soon I had a job workin´ in a factory.
Well, the work was hard
it was hard as Hell,
My fingers bled and my blisters swelled,
Long, long hours back racked with pain,
Just me and Sergei from Ukraine.

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 on 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,
She had blond hair and curls 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, All the work that you try and rob..."
I said, "Mister, 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 soil is spilt

Just like my grandfather
my Polish blood
On England soil is spilt