The British police are the best in the world I don’t believe one of those stories I’ve heard About them raiding our clubs for no reason at all Lining the customers up by the wall Pulling out people, knocking them down Resisting arrest as they’re kicked on the ground Raiding our houses, calling us queer I don’t believe that sort of thing happens here Sing if you’re glad to be gay Sing if you’re happy that way, Hey! Sing if you’re glad to be gay Sing if you’re happy that way Pictures of naked young women are fun In Titbits and Playboy, page three of the Sun There’s no nudes in Gay News, our one magazine But they still found excuses to call it obscene Read how disgusting we are in the press The Telegraph, People and Sunday Express Molesters of children, corruptors of youth It’s there in the papers..... it must be the truth Sing if you’re glad to be gay Sing if you’re happy that way, Hey! Sing if you’re glad to be gay Sing if you’re happy that way And don’t try to kid us that if you’re discreet You’re perfectly safe as you walk down the street You don’t have to mince or to make bitchy remarks To get beaten unconscious and left in the dark I had a friend who was gentle and short He was lonely one evening, he went for a walk Queerbashers caught him and kicked in his teeth He was only hospitalised for a week And sit back and watch as they close down our clubs Arrest us for meeting and raid all our pubs Make sure your boyfriend’s at least twenty one So only your friends and your brothers get done Lie to your workmates, lie to your folks Put down the queens, tell anti-queer jokes Gay Lib’s ridiculous, join their laughter The buggers are legal now... what more are they after?