Chorus
What have they done to the old Rose and Crown?
The Ship, the King's Arms, and the World Upside Down.
For oak, brass, and leather, and a pint of the best
Fade away like the sun as it sinks in the west.

Good friends, gather round and I'll tell you a tale.
It's a story well known to all lovers of ale.
The old English pub, once a man's second home
Has been decked out by brewers in plastic and foam (chrome).

And the old oaken bar where the pumps filled your glass
Gives way to Formica and tanks full of gas.
And the landlord behind, once a man of good cheer
Just mumbles the price as he hands you your beer.

And where are the friends who would meet for a jar,
Or a good game of darts in the old public bar?
The dartboard is gone, in its place is a thing
Where you pull on the handle and lose all your tin.
    (Where you push on a button and lose all your tin)

But the worst of it all's what they've done to the beer.
For their shandies and lagers that will make you feel queer.
For an arm and a leg, they will fill up your glass
With a half and half mixture of ullage and gas.

So come all you good people who like to sip ale
Here's hope to a happier end to my tale
For there's nothing can fill a man's heart with more cheer
Than to sit in a pub with a pint of good beer.

Chorus
So here's to the housework, we'll sing with good cheer,
Here's to the house, we can clean it next year,
And when folks come to visit, it's perfectly clear,
That Miss Martha Stewart, she doesn't live here.

My kitchen is full of yesterday's mess,
And the laundry's piled up to the sky, I confess,
And the flowers on my table have wilted and died,
And the dog looks as though he's missed going outside.

The kids chase the dog, and the dog hunts the cats,
The cats chase each other, and get into spats,
And the fur's always flying as thick as you please,
Till it settles around us and makes us all sneeze.

The bathroom's become my dear children's domain,
There are towels in the shower and hair in the drain,
And the steam turns to mildew, the mildew to rot,
Till the floor does resemble the land time forgot.

My house bursts with clutter, and children, and pets,
And although it's not perfect, I have no regrets,
And I have no desire for her beautiful home,
For if Miss Martha lives there, she lives there alone.