It's late in the evening and someone decides to dance
And then their seat is taken by someone who takes a chance
But he not only takes a chance, he steals a place and setting
Can you get what I'm getting at, is the chair just a symbol of you
It's an art bank robbery
It's late in the evening and the poets colour is draining
The tea and cake have worked a treat but in his heart it's raining
Then in from the cold come the foreign spies, except they're English lads
Out on a night,
They should be in the working men's club
Their colours are white their values are blue
But they've come into the art bank to rob it of its hue
They heckle at the singers, they cast their gazes around
As if we are all their enemies as if they expect the sound
Of tiny hearts a beating afraid of their cultural appropriation
But if they steal our music we give them it,
It's an art bank robbery
