A Bare Knuckle Fist Fight in London's East End

It was a Sunday in Old Nichol Street
A short walk from Stepney Green
As they preached the Friars Mount
The Bishop of Bromley-Bow looked down
On the filth and what pray tell
Of all that is The Sweaters' Hell
And then we heard the Bow Bells chime

They vestrymen and Peers of the realm
The vampires who took the helm
First Duke of Buckingham
Collecting rent the lords of slum
Like Grosvenor and Bishopsgate
Cavendish and Lionsmate
And though there were a want of pews
Many were there to hear the truth

This is the tale of what happened on that fateful day
A Frenchman you could hear shout
Of what we didn't know about
But you could tell by his very air that he was rare
This Old Nichol Street Rookery this air of aristocracy

Les riches s'embourgeoisent et
Les pauvres se ramollissent
Nous nous laisseront pas faire
Nous lâcherons pas nos frères
Ces hommes qui nous écrasent
Qui nous imposent se défie
Sont les hommes qui ne se verront pas vieillir!!!

Now the Irish gypsy didikai and
The crowd of Cockneys gathered nearby
From their hands a stone let fly
But missed him only by an inch
And hit the child & it was this, that was the clinch
For he was a kind and ecumenical man
But this is where he drew the line

Cet enfer nous brûle
Et nous durcie comme l'argile
Lorsque les prophètes prospèrent
Dans les terres promises
Levons les chaînes de nos coups
De nos mains, de nos pieds
Le temps est venu de se lever!!

Put up your fists and let's fight

I will stand and fight
For I know what's right

Put up your fists and let's fight

I will stand and fight
For I know what's right