TAFFY IS A WELSHMAN
Taffy is a Welshman, Taffy is no thief. Someone came to Taffy's house and stole a leg of beef.
Taffy made no protest, for he doesn't like a row, so the someone called on him again and stole the bloody cow.
They stole his coal and iron, they stole his pastures, too. They even stole his language and flushed it down the loo.
Taffy is a Welshman, Taffy is a fool. Taffy voted no, no, no when they offered him home rule.
Six days a week upon his knees Taffy dug for coal. On the seventh he was kneeling, too, praying for his soul.
And now the mines are closing down and chapel's had its day, Taffy still lives upon his knees, for he knows no other way.
Now sometimes Taffy's brother will start a row or so, but you can bank on Taffy: he doesn't want to know.
For when they hanged Penderyn he had nothing much to say, and when Saunders Lewis went to jail he looked the other way.
Taffy is a Welshman who likes to be oppressed. He was proud to tug his forelock to a Crawshay or a Guest.
They give him tinsel royals, so he has a pint of beer, and sings God Bless the Prince of Wales as he joins the mob to cheer.
Now Taffy is a fighter when he hears the bugle call. Name any war since Agincourt: Taffy's seen them all.
He's fought in France and Germany and many another land; he's fought by sea and fought by air and fought on desert sand.
He's fought for many a foreign flag in many a foreign part, for Taffy is a Welshman, proud of his fighting heart.
He's fought the wide world over, he's given blood and bone. He's fought for every bloody cause except his bloody own.
