The Battle of Stockton
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It was Sunday morning in Stockton town
And last night's vomit was warm on the ground
A church bell whispered and the river gave a sigh
And both remembered days gone by
Like a Sunday morning in thirty-three
When our grandfathers were desperate and hungry
And the black clouds gathered along the waterside
Jackboots came marching and the river cried
It was Sunday evening in Stockton town
And the blood of battle was warm on the ground
A hundred Blackshirts turned and ran
The church bell echoed and the river sang
Now it's Sunday morning and the fight is on
And all the world may not care or know
But the Tees remembers as she winds her weary flow
When our grandfathers, our hungry grandfathers
Our desperate grandfathers, said no