Passing out, he marches, eyes to the right,
From boy to man, a journey, but not quite over night.
Wearing his beret, silver cap badge catching the sun,
Not just any old regiment, RGJ British army’s number one.
Celer et Audax, the motto for young and old,
Not retreating, not relenting, advancing, Swift and Bold.
Proud Riflemen go out to battle, on many a foreign soil,
From cutting wind that freezes hands, to sun that makes skin boil.
Always loyal and true, defending those in trouble,
On the front line war fighting or checking an earthquakes rubble.
Now older, wiser, the Rifleman, sits and ponders his past,
Everyday, a page of his book, if written would be vast.
Returns home to a country that has many a foreign tongue,
Was it worth climbing the ladder, rounds fired on every rung.
His fellow countrymen seem lost, stripped of identity,
People look after number one, no more ours, no more us, no more we.
So this is my England, the country I swore to defend,
From Northern Ireland, Balkans and Iraq, fighting ‘till the end.
A country that takes from its people, and passes to anothers hand,
The country is becoming barren, no more a green and pleasant land.
As happened in times past, the men will rise again, driven on by national pride,
The politicians are responsible for this, there’ll be no place to hide.
In a country that was so strong, to be so poor and week,
Lies a lion ready to roar, not passive, mild or meek.
With the cross of St George, he will take back what belongs to him,
Cast out the leech like parasites, brighten a land that stands so dim.
Crushing armies, as we pass, like once our fathers did,
The things that are of no use to us, throw out, discard, get rid.
We shall rise again, strong, with the identity of old,
A country that has its own motto, “ WE ARE ENGLAND, SWIFT AND BOLD”
Become proud once again, follow the path that we all chose,
Be caring in our nature, and nurture ENGLANDS ROSE.