Though we are a small island, you will hear us roar,
Not once, not twice, but thrice, for every British heart,
Bears the strength of three lions.
We are the ones that have raised our standard high,
In victory, we are the ones who will always carry,
A sleeping sword, that we will wake in our solemn hour.
Though many of your faces I haven’t seen,
Or will ever see, if those proud lions beat in you,
Then I can call you brother or sister,
And I say unto you, “let hope never blister!”
For true family are we, we have each other’s back,
In dark and troubling times, we know how to attack,
How to attack those things that say, “that we cannot”,
With an unmatched zealousness, we tie them into knots,
Then we wake our sleeping sword, to scare them all away,
Until another challenge comes another day.