An anthem for a county of one’s choice
And did this shire, from days of yore,
Shine as the jewel in Britain’s crown?
And was there ever built before
A place more fair than Taunton town?
And did king Alfred burn, in haste,
Those cakes on Sedgemoor’s willowy ways?
And was our cider’s wondrous taste
As sweet as now, in bygone days?
Bring me my pitchfork gleaming bright!
Bring me my bow of withies made!
Bring me my scythe! Oh foes, take fright!
Bring me my sharp and shiny spade!
No Carver Doone shall keep us down
Nor Witch of Wookey rule by threat.
We’ll drink of cider till we drown
For we’m come up from Somerset.
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