Two things absolutely f*ck me off about this thread...
1. All you f*ckwits that bang about being english (note the small "e") like you're a human stick of rock....cut you open and it'll say "english till I die".
Get f*ckin real...you're a mongrel race made up of...among others ...the french, germans, scandinavians, romans, spanish...the list goes on.
If you showed up at Crufts you'd be shown the door, with a well placed Savil Row brogue up yer arse...
Rant over.
Scot...Brit...and f*ckin proud to still be here in Great Britain.
I happen to like the Union Jack...the rest of you so-called nationalistic twats can go f*ck yerselves.
English by birth and proud of her.
sorry just read you are a jock that explains it.
By the way it aint all true you know some people apart from the jocks like them as well. Now Now run along and get me some more oil whilst me and my country support you in everything you do,
tell you what, lets get all the jocks out of the english government, stop sending them millions and millions of english pounds a year to help their little government, bring our oil into an english port so theirs dry up.
And as for the union flag, feck off the cross of st george in the only flag worth having.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
found what i was looking for.
I once heard that the pronunciation of the Scottish name Home was changed to Hume after disastrous results during a battle when the war-cry "Home! Home!" was shouted and soldiers all headed home.
and the other one was.
fook this we aint fighting 2 of them english bastids said the thousand scottish warriors