Judi Dench & Bob Hoskins Follow

Poor old London Town is falling down.
Lots of places going up in flames.
But if you're in the know, and find out where to go
You'll find the lovelies very much the same.

We're babies of the Blitz,
Our boudoir's blown to bits
We're living underground
And overdrawn and on our wits

By day we're knitting mufflers
Or cutting canteen cakes
But nightfall doesn't ruffle us
For we've got what it takes

It's no longer safe to tarry
At Cafe de Paris
So we're ladies-in-waiting now
To do our little bits

Though we're in dungarees-es
To hide our silken knees-es
Keeping the old flag flying
We're the b-b-b-b-babies of the Blitz!

Tin-hats may hide our coiffures for a while
And shelter boots conceal our dainty feet
But 'neath this tough external
There's something that's eternal
Ask the Air Force
Or the Army
Or the Fleet!

We're babies of the Blitz
And when their leave permits
We welcome back the boys
Who fly the Hurricanes and Spits

Class bosses of munitions
And tired businessmen
Must park their inhibitions
And make whoopee
And make whoopee
And make whoopee now and then

We'll lend sophistication
To well-earned recreation
We're "what the doctor ordered"
After chasing Messerschmitts!

So long as there is rhythm
And good meals, and we are with 'em
They won't exterminate
The babies, babies, babies, babies
Babies... of the Blitz!

(Musical interlude)

We'll lend sophistication
To well-earned recreation
We're "what the doctor ordered"
After chasing Messerschmitts!

So long as there is rhythm
And good meals, and we are with 'em
They won't exterminate
The babies, babies, babies, babies
Babies... of the Blitz!