Jim: Oh, God!   Californian Weirdo: Sole has no eyes.   Could be Jerusalem, or it could be Cairo   Could be Berlin, or it could be Prague   Could be Moscow, could be New York   Could be Llanelli, and it could be Warrington   Could be Warsaw, and it could be Moose Jaw   Could be Rome   Everybody got somewhere they call home   When they overrun the defences   A minor invasion put down to expenses   Will you go down to the airport lounge   Will you accept your second class status   A nation of waitresses and waiters   Will you mix their martinis   Will you stand still for it   Or will you take to the hills      It could be clay and it could be sand   Could be desert   Could be a tract of arable land   Could be a house, could be a corner shop   Could be a cabin by a bend in the river   Could be something your old man handed down   Could be something you built on your own   Everybody got something he calls home      When the cowboys and Arabs draw down   On each other at noon   In the cool dusty air of the city boardroom   Will you stand by a passive spectator   Of the market dictators   Will you discreetly withdraw   With your ear pressed to the boardroom door   Will you hear when the lion within you roars   Will you take to the hills      Will you stand, will you stand for it   Will you hear, ohhhh! ohhh! when the lion within   you roars      Could be your father and it could be your mother   Could be your sister, could be your brother   Could be a foreigner, could be a Turk   Could be a cyclist out looking for work. Norman   Could be a king, could be the Aga khan   Could be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legs   Could be a saint, could be a sinner   Could be a loser or it could be a winner   Could be a banker, could be a baker   Could be a Laker, could be Kareem Abdul Jabar   Could be a male voice choir   Could be a lover, could be a fighter   Could be a super heavyweight, or it could be   something lighter   Could be a cripple, could be a freak   Could be a wop, gook, geek   Could be a cop, could be a thief   Could be a family of ten living in one room on relief   Could be our leaders in their concrete tombs   With their tinned food and their silver spoons   Could be the pilot with God on his side   Could be the kid in the middle of the bomb sight   Could be a fanatic, could be a terrorist   Could be a dentist, could be a psychiatrist   Could be humble, could be proud   Could be a face in the crowd   Could be the soldier in the white cravat   Who turns the key in spite of the fact   That this is the end of the cat and mouse   Who dwelt in the house   Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt   The house that Jack built   Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt   The house that Jack built   Bang, bang, shoot, shoot   White gloved thumb, Lord thy will be done   He was always a good boy his mother said   He'll do his duty when he's grown, yeah   Everybody's got someone they call home