Lyrics

{Intro – Spoken:}

[Churchill voice:] “History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.”
[Spoken:]
Yeah, well... we brought a red pen.


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{Verse 1 – The Real Resume}

🎶
They teach you he “saved the West,” sure, that’s cute,
But how ‘bout the part where he starved a whole group?
Bengal famine—four million gone,
And he said, “Wheat? Nah. Send it to the Brits, carry on.”

Said Indians were lazy, blamed them for dying,
Then lit up a cigar while their kids were crying.
If you think that’s cold—oh babe, just wait...
He wanted to gas people just to show who’s boss in Iraq. Great.


Loved war, loved power, loved white man pride,
Said “peace” while dropping bombs worldwide.
He backed Mussolini before Hitler got worse,
So yeah—he’s complex, but he’s also a jerk.


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{Chorus}


🖐️ You want applause? Here's a clap you can’t dodge.
Say hello to the wrath of Historical Hands.
Maybe history won’t be so kind this time…
Not when the truth finally stands.


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{Verse 2 }


He was cool with apartheid, called Gandhi a bum,
Said “half-naked faker”—Bro, you’re the colonizer scum.
Let Ireland burn, let Kenya bleed,
All so he could keep that empire dream.

Backed coups, loved oil, and said real dumb shit,
Like, “The English race is the best there is.”
Called everyone else “barbaric pests,”
But he was out here being imperial AF.

🎶
Made speeches while drunk, wrote books full of lies,
If there was a Nobel for gaslighting—surprise!
He got one! Not peace—just lit flair,
For rewriting history like he was never there.


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{Bridge }


He said “We’ll fight on the beaches!” but not for the brown,
You could drown for the crown if you weren’t from his town.
Every statue that stands like he was all that?
Built on bones.
Now sit down and catch a slap.
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{Final Chorus }


You want applause? Here's a clap you can’t dodge.
Say hello to the wrath of Historical Hands.
White-washed stories, polished lies—
Let’s bring out the bloody footnotes this time.


You built an empire? Great. With stolen lives.
But here comes the reckoning—truth never dies.
So light one up, Winston—maybe pour a brandy,
Call me "Winston's conqueror"
Ain't these hands dandy?