A rags to fat cash story, courtesy of Victorian aristocracy and Will Smith.
Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped turned upstairs down
So if you’ll come 'round for tea and just sit right there
I’ll tell you all about how I became Lord Granthem’s heir.
In Manchester, Eng-a-land, I reside
A middle class lawyer with my mum by my side
Don’t have a butler, but stubborn with pride
Till I got a telegram saying the true heir had died
Just a couple of Crawleys who went out on a boat
Said it couldn’t sink but it sure didn’t float
Because of one little rule that the heir must be male
Both the title and fortune are mine through entail
The ladies and servants were all cross with me
But the Lord, he was down to protect the Abbey
If anything I could say that Mary was fair
Perhaps I might like being Lord Granthem’s heir.
I biked up to the house, met Carson and Bates
And a footman named Thomas whom everyone hates
Strolled through my castle, it might not seem fair
Screw the dowager countess. I’m Downton’s new heir.