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Charles Windsor

Charles Windsor, who's at the door

At such an hour, who's at the door

In the back of an old green Cortina

You're on your way to the guillotineHere the rabble comes

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop off your headHundreds of bound big business men

Hacks from The Sun, military men

So many rich men weep in despair

On and on into Trafalgar SquareHere the rabble comes

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop, chop, chop your headThese once peaceful streets

The scenes of revenge you had not wished to see

Revenge is so sweet for those who have never known anything sweet

Here the rabble come

The kind you hoped were dead

They've come to chop, to chop off your head

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