Chumbawamba

(spoken)
"Bang, the little drummer takes a solo, reaching his young hands all over traps and kettles and cymbals and foot-peddle
BOOM in a fantastic crash of sound – but what will happen?"
The dance halls are dark now
The ballrooms are closed
No wax for my needle and I don't suppose
You'll be swinging by anytime soon
Singing that same so-so tune
Nobody's playing
No-one's been paid
The music's all stopped and
You never said you could
Wait from September to June
Singing that same so-so tune
While brothers are fighting and working to rule
Here's a tired, sentimental old song
It goes: 'Ooh, baby, baby
Treating me wrong'
We'll be back where we belong before long