Chumbawamba. All The King's Men. Zeneszám

And so in the tradition of Manfred the Great
The people built the glorious vision in his name
Great Britain they called it, a land for heroes
A land where no one was starving, a paradise, a garden of Eden
The garden of Eden, levelled to the ground
And concreted over, re-built from scratch
With I.C.I. man-made fibres, they made their paradise out of plastic
But our world is cracked and it's showing through
The plastic backed cello-taped superglue
The paper money and the patched up lies
The cover-up jobs, the fact they try to hide
That all the king's horses and all the king's men
Will never stick our world together again
With their plastic, sticky-backed, red-taped lies,
And all the paper money they exchange for our lives
Think about it, our world, all the ecological catastrophes

They're happening all at once, at the same time now
Mankind to the rescue, I ask you why?
To him tomorrow is just another fucking day fucking up the earth
Filling his fat silver-lined pockets full
So please listen, dear peoplekind
See the reason that minkind won't save the earth
Cos there's no money in it for him, it's not worth his while
It's up to us
It's up to us
It's up to us, each and every one of us