The grip of the Sabbath day 
In London town the only sound 
Is a whisper in an alleyway 
Men put on their gloves and boots 
Have a smoke before they go 
From the west there is a warning of 
wind about to blow 

Like Caesar marching to the East 
Marches Mosley with his men 
Dressed in their clothes of deepest black 
Like a gathering hurricane 

This is the British Union
With its flag of black and red 
flag that casts a shadow in 
Berlin and in Madrid 

So listen to the sound of marching feet 
And the voices of the ghosts of Cable Street 
Fists and stones and batons and the gun 
With courage we shall beat those blackshirts down 

So mile by mile [bad word] on down 
To a place called Cable Street 
And other men are waiting there 
Preparations [bad word]  [bad word] so close 
They now can see his outstretched arm 
hand raised up that way 
Never took the future in its palm 

Listen to the sound of marching feet 
And the voices of the ghosts of Cable Street 
Fists and stones and batons and the gun 
With courage we shall beat those blackshirts down 

The battle broke as the fists and the batons fell 
Through the barricades came the sound of the wounded yells 
Jack Spot burst through with a chair leg made of lead 
Brought down a crashing blow on Mosley's head 

And so we learn from history generations have to fight 
And those who crave for mastery 
Must be faced down on sight 

And if that means by words, by fists, by stones or by the gun 
Remember those who stood up for 
Their daughters and their sons 

Listen to the sound of marching feet 
And the voices of the ghosts of Cable Street 
Fists and stones and batons and the gun 
With courage we shall beat those blackshirts down 

Listen to the sound of marching feet 
And the voices of the ghosts of Cable Street 
Fists and stones and batons and the gun 
With courage we shall beat those blackshirts down