England, 1936. nThe grip of the Sabbath day nIn London town the only sound nIs a whisper in an alleyway nMen put on their gloves and boots nHave a smoke before they go nFrom the west there is a warning of nA wind about to blow nnLike Caesar marching to the EastnMarches Mosley with his mennDressed in their clothes of deepest blacknLike a gathering hurricanenThis is the British UnionnWith its flag of black and rednA flag that casts a shadow innBerlin and in MadridnnSo listen to the sound of marching feetnAnd the voices of the ghosts of Cable StreetnFists and stones and batons and the gunnWith courage we shall beat those blackshirts downnnSo mile by mile they come on downnTo a place called Cable StreetnAnd other men are waiting therenPreparations are completenMosley comes so closenThey now can see his outstretched armnA hand raised up that waynNever took the future in its palmnnListen to the sound of marching feetnAnd the voices of the ghosts of Cable StreetnFists and stones and batons and the gunnWith courage we shall beat those blackshirts downnnThe battle broke as the fists and the batons fellnThrough the barricades came the sound of the wounded yellsnJack Spot burst through with a chair leg made of leadnBrought down a crashing blow on Mosley's headnnAnd so we learn from history generations have to fightnAnd those who crave for masterynMust be faced down on sightnAnd if that means by words, by fists, by stones or by the gunnnRemember those who stood up fornTheir daughters and their sonsnnListen to the sound of marching feetnAnd the voices of the ghosts of Cable StreetnFists and stones and batons and the gunnWith courage we shall beat those blackshirts downnnListen to the sound of marching feetnAnd the voices of the ghosts of Cable StreetnFists and stones and batons and the gunnWith courage we shall beat those blackshirts downn