Engurland, Engurland, Engurland ... your Royal duty as a St George cross-bearing, sunburn-sporting, pint of Carling-swilling, monobloc polypropylene chair-chucking, international King of the louts is upon you. Let batty old Liz swear you into the court of chaos, say your oath to the spirit of Captain Tom, spit on the Marxist cult of BLM and shag a poppy. Your time is now, your country needs you. Or actually, just get in the sea you fascist fucks. Capturing the contradictory spirit of our troubled nation, Hilfingerz welcomes in the wonder and woe of football coming home, from flying chairs to brave lions, settle in for a rib cage-rocking set of tech house that screams 'take the knee', 'shut up you racist wankers', and most importantly 'fucking come on ENGLAND!'
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