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 guillotine

Here the rabble comes, the kind you hoped were dead

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

Hundreds of bound big-business men

Hacks from The Sun, military men

So many rich men weep in despair

On and on into Trafalgar Square

Here the rabble comes, the kind you hoped were dead

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

These once peaceful streets

The scenes of revenge you had not wished to see

Revenge is sweet

To those who have never known anything sweet

Here the rabble comes, the kind you hoped were dead

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