Napoleon tried in eighteen-twelve,
But didn’t have much luck.
Then Hitler swooped in forty-one,
Yet he too came unstuck.
Now England’s bound for Russia,
Though this time there’s no war.
We’re not hell-bent on conquest,
Just want to play football.
Our hopes, as ever, are sky-high,
That Cup’s there for the taking.
While less stout hearts – France, Spain, Brazil,
With fear are all a-quaking.
The Russian President’s not keen
On us, but listen, Putin –
In Heav’n above our Patron Saint,
Brave George for us is rootin’.
Red cross against white background,
With pride his flag we wave,
And lustily in song we ask
Our God the Queen to save.
We’re set to leave the EU,
Because “Brexit means Brexit”.
But from this tournament let’s pray
We don’t make a swift exit.
Denys E. W. Jones