With their cigarettes an’ matches, flowers or shirt or pipe or tie;
An’ one ’ud sometimes talk an’ speak—I used ter wonder why—
Cos I ain’t no blame Adonis, not ter notice, passin’ by.
I’m thinkin’ if the angels ’ave a Union Jack around,
An’ sticks it somewhere prominent when Gabriel starts to sound,
The people round that flag will be ’most half the hosts on high—
The men who’ve passed, or waits to pass, or now are passin’ by,
Big ’earted men an’ wimmen, white an’ black, a-passin’ by.
Passin’ by; passin’ by; just to keep that flag on high,
An’ all that flag ’as stood for in the days that’s now gone by;