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Author Topic: Socialist, labour, and protest songs
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 09 December 2001 10:51 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Feel free to post any that you know- genre does't matter. The lyrics I'm posting will be kind of "folky", but again, feel free to post anything from Tchaikovsky's operas to Rage Against the Machine

The Internationale by Eugène Pottier (1816-87)

Arise! ye starvelings from your slumbers;
Arise! ye criminals of want.
For Reason in revolt now thunders,
And at last end the age of cant.
Now away with all superstitions,
Servile masses arise! Arise!
We'll change forthwith the old conditions,
And spurn the dust to win the prize.

Chorus:
Then comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face.
The International Unites the human race.
Then comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face.
The Internationale Unites the human race.

We peasants, artisans and others;
Enrolled among the sons of toil.
Let's claim the earth henceforth for brothers, Drive the indolent from the soil.
On our flesh too long has fed the raven;
We've too long been the vulture's prey.
But now, farewell the spirit craven,
The dawn brings in a brighter day.

Chorus

No saviour from on high delivers;
No trust have we in prince or peer.
Our own right hand the chains must shiver;
Chains of hatred, of greed and fear.
Ere the thieves will out with their booty
And to all give a happier lot.
Each at his forge must do his duty
And strike the iron while it's hot.

Chorus

Alternate versions found at the bottom of this page

Solidarity Forever (Ralph Chaplin - 1915)

When the union's inspiration through the workers' blood shall run,
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun;
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one,
But the union makes us strong.

CHORUS:
Solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever,
For the union makes us strong.

Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite,
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and fight?
For the union makes us strong.

chorus

It is we who plowed the praries; built the cities where they trade;
Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid;
Now we stand outcast and starving midst the wonders we have made;
But the union makes us strong.

chorus

All the world that's owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone.
We have laid the wide foundations; built it skyward stone by stone.
It is ours, not to slave in, but to master and to own.
While the union makes us strong.

chorus

They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn,
But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn.
We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn
That the union makes us strong.

chorus

In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold,
Greater than the might of armies, magnified a thousand-fold.
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old
For the union makes us strong.

chorus

The Red Flag (Jim Connel - 1889)

The worker's flag is deepest red,
It shrouded oft our martyred dead,
And ere their limbs grew stiff and cold
Their hearts' blood dyed its ev'ry fold.

CHORUS:
Then raise the scarlet standard high!
Within its shade we'll live or die.
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.

Look 'round, the Frenchman loves its blaze,
The sturdy German chants its praise,
In Moscow's vaults its hymns are sung
Chicago swells the surging throng.

chorus

It waved above our infant might
When all ahead seemed dark as night;
It witnessed many a deed and vow:
We must not change its color now.

chorus

It suits today the meek and base,
Whose minds are fixed on pelf and place,
To cringe beneath the rich man's frown,
And haul that sacred emblem down.

chorus

It well recalls the triumphs past;
It gives the hope of peace at last --
The banner bright, the symbol plain
Of human right and human gain.

chorus

With heads uncovered swear we all
To bear it onward till we fall.
Come dungeons dark or gallows grim,
This song shall be our parting hymn.

chorus

Hallelujah, I'm a Bum (Harry McClintock - 1897/1908)

Why don't you work like other folks do?
How the hell can I work when there's no work to do?
[OR: How can I get a job when you're holding down two?]

CHORUS:
Hallelujah, I'm a bum,
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a handout
To revive us again.

Oh, why don't you save all the money you earn?
If I didn't eat, I'd have money to burn.

chorus

Whenever I get all the money I earn,
The boss will be broke, and to work he must turn.

chorus

Oh, I like my boss, he's a good friend of mine,
That's why I am starving out on the breadline.

chorus

When springtime it comes, oh, won't we have fun;
We'll throw off our jobs, and go on the bum.

chorus


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 09 December 2001 10:54 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
just a note: "The Red Flag" is sung to the tune of "O Christmas Tree". Yes, I know ...
From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Ken Wickman
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1932

posted 09 December 2001 11:16 PM      Profile for Ken Wickman        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Oh Lord, won't you buy me, a Jeep Cherokee
My parents, say no sir -- a Lumina for thee
Work hard all my lifetime
I must make, amends
Oh Lord, won't you buy me... a Jeep Cherokee

http://www.theonion.com/onion3416/marxist_student.html


From: duncan | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 09 December 2001 11:47 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Just saw this thread now, meades, and I do lan on posting lyrics for you. You have hit a topic I have a good deal of knowledge of. I literally have BOOKS of labour, protest and socialist songs. In 1997 a group of my fellow workers and I had a band formed after a CAW educational conference at Port Elgin. We were working three different shifts six days a week, but managed to rehearse enough to show up to a May Day celebration, a folkie "open mic" night and Labour Day. We were naturally called "Out of Order" and had a great time. Some of the songs we sang were not even "folk" persay. We even sang a four part harmony Bob Marley "Redemption Song". My favourite song to sing was Eric Bogle's "Singing the Spirit Home", though. Have you heard of those. I promise I will post lyrics later. I am on Days tomorrow and must wake up at 5:00Am. However, on one of the lyrics thread, I posted the lyrics to a song written by a local folkie about working in my factory. So, I'll post those tonight. In the meantime, are there any particular sons or types of songs you are looking for? Let me know.

COLD PIECE OF STEEL

Each morn at the dawning I rise from my bed
And shake out the cobwebs that grow in my head
And walk to the gates of the factory I dread
To be chained to a cold piece of steel.

Ch. Steel's up! Haul it away!
Haul it away down the line!

You work with your mates till the end of the day
Don't tarry, me hardies, there's no time for play.
You sweat at your job and you're earning your pay
As you bend to that cold piece of steel.

There's four walls surround you no sky do you see
They steal anything that would make you feel free.
And you must raise your hand just to go for a wee
Cause you're chained to a cold piece of steel.

They work you each day and they always want more.
You sweat at the job and your muscles are sore,
But your eye's on the clock and your mind's on the door
Cuase you're chained to a cold piece of steel.

The forman's the main man, he's got lots of clout.
The long winded dirtbag's a bastard, a lout.
If these were the old days he'd carry a knout
And it's me what gets chained to the steel.

The boss in the office he gives you a nod.
He got where he got from the moneyhe clawed
Off the backs of the workers. Oh, he thinks that he's God
Cause he owns that cold piece of steel.

But you stay in your place and you do your job well
But you're dreaming a dream that someday you'll tell
The boss and the foreman to both go to hell
While you're smashing that cold piece of steel.


Len Wallace


From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Jared
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 803

posted 10 December 2001 01:31 AM      Profile for Jared     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Rheostatics are not a particularly political band, but Tim Vesley did write a rather scathing indictment of the Mike Harris government on the "Blue Hysteria" record:

**********************************
BAD TIME TO BE POOR

It is a bad time to be poor,
'Cause we don't give a shit no more.
If you want to go for help, don't look next door.
The line's been drawn and staked outside.

I see to trying to lay the blame
On the folks in charge who hide in shame
For growing up with an open purse,
And learning not about being alive.

Haven't I done enough to burn out?
Haven't I been there to help out?

It is a bad time to be young.
What's left to us can't be undone
Without it riding on our backs
When young and poor go hand in hand.

It is a bad time to be poor,
And feeling winter through a crack in the door.


From: Vancouver | Registered: Jun 2001  |  IP: Logged
Adam
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 358

posted 10 December 2001 01:41 AM      Profile for Adam     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I wanna know about U by The (International) Noise Conspiracy
I wanna know about your little secret. I want to know why we're not equal.
I wanna know about the great pyramids; I want know just what they really did.
I wanna know about Tianmen square- the names and faces of those who died there.
I wanna know about the communards-- riots in Paris where the action was.

I wanna know about you!

I wanna know about 1939-- Spanish anarchists in our time!
I wanna know about the young pretenders, I want to know about what it meant.
I wanna know about the soul rebels, the all-nighters in every weather.
I wanna know about the book you're reading. I wanna know about the blood that you're bleeding.

I wanna know about you!

I wanna know about your little secret.
I wanna know why we're not equal.
Wanna know about my sisters and my brothers and why we miss each other.
I wanna know about the sound coming from the underground all around.

I wanna know about you!

Confessions of a futon-revolutionist by The Weakerthans
Held like water in your shaking hand are all the small defeats a day demands. 10-6 or 9-5. Trying, dying to survive. Never knowing what survival means. Leave the apartment to buy alcohol. Hang our diplomas on the bathroom wall. Pick at the plaster chipped away, survey some stunning tooth decay, enlist the cat in the impending class-war. Let's make believe we're strong, or hum some protest song. Like maybe "We Shall Overcome Someday." Overcome the stupid things we say. Say I needed more than this, say I needed one more kiss. We left that light on way too long. Let's plant a bomb at city hall. Let's kill a member of the Legislative Assembly, or talk the night away. You call in sick, I'll quit the word-games that I play. I swear I more than half believe it when I say that somewhere love and justice shine. Cynicism falls asleep. Tyranny talks to itself. Sappy slogans all come true. We forget to feed our fears.

(half of)My Favourite Chords by The Weakerthans
They're digging up streets again. They're building a new hotel. The Mayor's out killing kids to keep taxes down, and me and my anger sit folding a paper bird, letting the curtains turn to beating wings. Wish I had a socket-set to dismantle this morning. And just one pair of clean socks. And a photo of you. When you get off work tonight, meet me at the construction site, and we'll write some notes to tape to the heavy machines, like "We hope they treat you well. Hope you don't work too hard. We hope you get to be happy sometimes." Bring you swish army knife, and a bottle of something, and I'll bring some spraypaint and a new deck of cards.

MATE KA MORIS UKUN RASIK AN by Propagandhi

Dickheads shit-talk, huddled and single-file. First-world frat-boys and prairie skinheads who will never walk a mile or mourn a murdered friend in this tiny woman's shoes. Drink up and mumble your abuse. I'm still humbled by it all: around the same time that i was riding with no hands, busting windows and getting busy behind the sportsplex (with Labonte's older sister decked out in her Speedos), Bella was flinching from the sting of a Depo Proveran "family planning", her own Pearl Harbour and a holocaust spanning 25 years to the rest of her life. A prison my country underwrote in paradise. And in the shadows of Santa Cruz, she crossed her fingers behind her back. Built Suharto a Trojan horse and lay still till the motherfucker sent her north where as night fell she emerged with a box under her arm that held her pledge of allegiance and her uniform. She laid it at the gates of the General's embassy and her whisper echoed into dawn as she disappeared:

The truth will set my people free.

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: Adam ]


From: MurderHouse Nation | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Ken Wickman
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1932

posted 10 December 2001 02:39 AM      Profile for Ken Wickman        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
1."And Then There's Maude", by the Council of Canadians

2. "Blowin' in the Wind", by Sven and the Cuban Ragtime Band

3. "Teddy Bear", by Jaggi Singh

4. "It's My Party (and I'll Cry if I Want to") by Alexa McDonough

5. "Fast Ferries at Sunset" by Glen Clark, and the NDP Five

6. "My Sihota", by the Knack


From: duncan | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged
rasmus
malcontent
Babbler # 621

posted 10 December 2001 04:09 AM      Profile for rasmus   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Ken, if you're going to mock people, at least spell things correctly. It's more impressive that way.

BTW, keep it up and my money says your tenure at Babble will be a short one.

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: rasmus_raven ]


From: Fortune favours the bold | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
audra trower williams
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2

posted 10 December 2001 08:35 AM      Profile for audra trower williams   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Word.
From: And I'm a look you in the eye for every bar of the chorus | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
David Kyle
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1530

posted 10 December 2001 09:42 AM      Profile for David Kyle     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
BTW, keep it up and my money says your tenure at Babble will be a short one.

Nice threat. So much for uncensored free flow of ideas, humour, and insights. Burning any books this week?

From: canada | Registered: Oct 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 10 December 2001 10:21 AM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
David Kyle, private publishers don't censor. They exercise editorial judgement.

No one here supports legislation that restrains thought and expression, eh? We just have high aesthetic standards.

Have a nice day.


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 10 December 2001 10:33 AM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
And gee golly gosh, that little interruption made me forget why I visited!

Soldiers have often written powerful protest and anti-war songs and poetry. I think of two classics.

"We Are the D-Day Dodgers," sung to the tune of Lili Marlene, was written by a British soldier slogging through the (extremely bloody) Italian campaign at the end of WWII, and enraged at Lady Astor's claim in a Commons speech that the forces in Italy were having an easy time of it compared to the Normandy invaders.

"And the Band Played Waltzing Mathilda" narrates the story of a young Australian shipped off to fight at Gallipoli in WWI. It is very moving, ghostly -- Max Ferguson used to play it often, and there was a beautiful live performance (by a folksinger whose name will come to me -- forgive the senior moment) of it on the Vinyl Cafe on Remembrance Day.

I'll look for some lyrics.

D-Day Dodgers

also D-Day Dodgers, better music, words missing

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: skdadl ]


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
rasmus
malcontent
Babbler # 621

posted 10 December 2001 11:49 AM      Profile for rasmus   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Nice threat. So much for uncensored free flow of ideas, humour, and insights. Burning any books this week?

Not a threat. A bet.

I didn't actually see any ideas, humour, or insights in Ken Wickman's post anyhow. The aim of Babble is not to provide a forum for any and every kind of disruptive and antagonistic post. There's an agreement you click on when you register and as I recall that agreement doesn't say "I agree I will be able to say anything I like whatsoever on Babble in the name of free speech, so help me God." Funny how those who strongly believe in private property rights seem to forget what those rights entail.


From: Fortune favours the bold | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
audra trower williams
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2

posted 10 December 2001 12:11 PM      Profile for audra trower williams   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Geez, no friggin' kidding. Rasmus is just stating that he has confidence in me to keep things civil, and remind people of the rules to which they agreed.

Is this Touchy-Right-Winger day?


From: And I'm a look you in the eye for every bar of the chorus | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Slick Willy
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 184

posted 10 December 2001 01:30 PM      Profile for Slick Willy     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Geez KW was just being funny. What's all the dick waving for?
From: Hog Heaven | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Ken Wickman
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1932

posted 10 December 2001 02:43 PM      Profile for Ken Wickman        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I apologize if my attempt at satire offended anyone (what is "Word", by Audra Estrones?". It's just that very earnest people, from the Left and Right, are often kinda funny, you know?
From: duncan | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged
judym
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 29

posted 10 December 2001 02:45 PM      Profile for judym   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
"Word" sort of means, "You've got that right." Audra is babble's moderator.
From: earth | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Twilight-Cedar
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1685

posted 10 December 2001 05:22 PM      Profile for Twilight-Cedar        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Ken: humour is a very personal thing (kind of a difficult thing, too). I laughed at a few of your entries (It's My Party, and Fast Ferries at Sunset raised a chuckle). But some people might construe your title "Blowin' in the Wind" as somewhat homophobic, I guess. I feel kind of neutral. But I'm concerned that certain people, other than
Audra, the moderator, feel the need to police or issue veiled threats about how long your tenure on the board will be. Also, how about some consistency here -- isn't there a thread talking about a fascist cohort of Tories hating and kicking puppies, or something?

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: Twilight-Cedar ]

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: Twilight-Cedar ]


From: Gabriola Island | Registered: Oct 2001  |  IP: Logged
QuikSilver
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1470

posted 10 December 2001 06:19 PM      Profile for QuikSilver     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Also, how about some consistency here -- isn't there a thread talking about a fascist cohort of Tories hating and kicking puppies, or something?

Yes, but they bobbed and weaved their way out of that one by virtue of grammar and samantics. Labelling people fascists and nazis and "America as a cancer" seems to slip below the radar for some reason.

[ December 10, 2001: Message edited by: QuikSilver ]


From: Your Wildest Fantasies | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
QuikSilver
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1470

posted 10 December 2001 06:30 PM      Profile for QuikSilver     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Lisa Simpson (1991)

So we'll march day and night,
By the big cooling tower,
They have the plant,
But we have the power...

(repeat)


From: Your Wildest Fantasies | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Ken Wickman
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1932

posted 10 December 2001 10:10 PM      Profile for Ken Wickman        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Sounds like my socialist, protest songs are O.K. Here are a few more, for your listening pleasure:

1. Little boxes (Kwan/McPhail)

2. Hang Down Your Head, Maude Barlow (Murray Dobster and the Saskatoon Pluckers)

3. Lola (L.Davies and the Kinks)

4. Here's to You, Mr. Robinson (Vancouver Men's Choir)


From: duncan | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 10 December 2001 11:17 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
skdadl, the tune you mentioned, "And the Band Played Waltzing Mathilda" was written by Eric Bogle, but I have not only his version, but of all people The Pogues do an excellent cover of it. I found the lyrics for you.

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
copyright Eric Bogle

However, I suggest that his best anti-war song is the one called "The Green Hills of France" or "No Man's Land", depending on what version of his album you bought. This was also covered by a band called The Men They Couldn't Hang. So I'll post those here:

Well how do you do now, you Willie MacBride?
Do you mind if I sit down beside your graveside
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun?
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done

Well I see by your gravestone you was only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen of nineteen sixteen
Well I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or Willie MacBride was it low and obscene?

Did they beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band sound the last post and chorus?
Did they pipe the flowers of the forest?

Did you leave a young wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart are your memories enshrined?
For although you died back in nineteen sixteen
In that faithful heart you're forever nineteen

Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane
In an old photograph tor, battered and stained
Faded to yellow with brown leather frayed?


Did they beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band sound the last post and chorus?
Did they pipe the flowers of the forest?

As the sun beats down on the green fields of France
There's a soft summer breeze makes the red poppies dance
And see how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, there's no barbed wire, no guns firing now

Oh but here in this grave yard it's still no man's land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
And through man's blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation who were butchered and damned

Did they beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band sound the last post and chorus?
Did they pipe the flowers of the forest?

Now Willie MacBride, I can't help wonder why
All those that lie here now why did they die?
And did they believe when they answered the call
Did they really believe tat this war could end wars?

Oh the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain
The killing and dying, 'twas all done in vain
For, Willie MacBride, oh it happened again
And again and again and again and again

Did they beat the drums slowly and play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band sound the last post and chorus?
Did they pipe the flowers of the forest?

More posts to follow on this thread, I promise. Day shift again tomorrow requires me to awaken at an obscene hour.

BTW, skdadl, I refuse to believe in your "senior moment." It's clear to me that your momentary memory lapse is due to responding to a very broad spectrum of threads.

G'night all.



From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 10 December 2001 11:36 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 

Wow, I thought this thread would just die, like so many others, but I`m glad I was wrong!

Ken: #4 of your last post brought out a chuckle, but the "Little boxes" kind of raised a few alarm bells... but I'm probably just being paranoid, so...


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Adam
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 358

posted 11 December 2001 02:04 AM      Profile for Adam     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Ringing Of Revolution by Phil Ochs

In a building of gold, with riches untold,
lived the families on which the country was founded.
And the merchants of style, with their red velvet smiles,
were there, for they also were hounded.
And the soft middle class crowded in to the last,
for the building was fully surrounded.
And the noise outside was the ringing of revolution.

Sadly they stared and sank in their chairs
and searched for a comforting notion.
And the rich silver walls looked ready to fall
As they shook in doubtful devotion.
The ice cubes would clink as they freshened their drinks,
wet their minds in bitter emotion.
And they talked about the ringing of revolution.

We were hardly aware of the hardships they beared,
for our time was taken with treasure.
Oh, life was a game, and work was a shame,
And pain was prevented by pleasure.
The world, cold and grey, was so far away
In the distance only money could measure.
But their thoughts were broken by the ringing of revolution.

The clouds filled the room in darkening doom
as the crooked smoke rings were rising.
How long will it take, how can we escape
Someone asks, but no one's advising.
And the quivering floor responds to the roar,
In a shake no longer surprising.
As closer and closer comes the ringing of revolution.

Softly they moan, please leave us alone
As back and forth they are pacing.
And they cover their ears and try not to hear
WIth pillows of silk they're embracing.
And the crackling crowd is laughing out loud,
peeking in at the target they're chasing.
Now trembling inside the ringing of revolution.

With compromise sway we give in half way
When we saw that rebellion was growing.
Now everything's lost as they kneel by the cross
Where the blood of christ is still flowing.
To late for their sorrow they've reached their tomorrow
and reaped the seed they were sowing.
Now harvested by the ringing of revolution.

In tattered tuxedos they faced the new heroes
and crawled about in confusion.
And they sheepishly grinned for their memoroes were dim
of the decades of dark execution.
Hollow hands were raised; they stood there amazed
in the shattering of their illusions.
As the windows were smashed by the ringing of revolution.

Down on our knees we're begging you please,
We're sorry for the way you were driven.
There's no need to taunt just take what you want,
and we'll make amends, if we're living.
But away from the grounds the flames told the town
that only the dead are forgiven.
As they crumbled inside the ringing of revolution.


From: MurderHouse Nation | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Doug
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 44

posted 11 December 2001 02:43 AM      Profile for Doug   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here are two more recent ones, both very energetic in their own way. The first is from Billy Bragg (what would a threat on socialist/labour/protest songs be without Billy?) and the second is more typical of what I listen to for fun (can't help it, 2/3rds of the music I like requires electricity), a translation of a song by the German metal/industrial group Rammstein that responds to the silly rumours that go around that they're nazis, presumably because they're big, German, loud and use what some might consider an excessive amount of pyrotechnics. So the message is that yes they're loud and scary but on the left. I like it because it speaks to the idea that when you look inside yourself, you'll know where you stand.


Upfield - Billy Bragg

I'm going upfield, way up on the hillside
I'm going higher than I've ever been before
That's where you'll find me, over the horizon
Wading in the river, reaching for that other shore

I dreamed I saw a tree full of angels, up on Primrose Hill
And I flew with them over the Great Wen till I had seen my fill
Of such poverty and misery sure to tear my soul apart
I've got a socialism of the heart, I've got a socialism of the heart

I'm going upfield, way up on the hillside
I'm going higher than I've ever been before
That's where you'll find me, over the horizon
Wading in the river, reaching for that other shore

The angels asked me how I felt about all I'd seen and heard
That they spoke to me, a pagan, gave me cause to doubt their word
But they laughed and said: "It doesn't matter if you'll help us in our art
You've got a socialism of the heart, you've got a socialism of the heart"

I'm going upfield, way up on the hillside
I'm going higher than I've ever been before
That's where you'll find me, over the horizon
Wading in the river, reaching for that other shore

Their faces shone and they were gone and I was left alone
I walked these ancient empire streets till I came tearful to my home
And when I woke next morning, I vowed to play my part
I've got a socialism of the heart, I've got a socialism of the heart

I'm going upfield, way up on the hillside
I'm going higher than I've ever been before
That's where you'll find me, over the horizon
Wading in the river, reaching for that other shore


Left 2 3 4 - Rammstein

Can you break hearts
can hearts speak
can you torture hearts
can you steal hearts

They want my heart on the right spot
but then I look below
it beats left there

Can hearts sing
can a heart burst
can hearts be pure
can a heart be made of stone

They want my heart on the right spot
but then I look below
it beats left there
left two three four left

Can you ask hearts
(can you) carry a child under yourself
can you give it away
(can you) think with your heart

They want my heart on the right spot
but then I look below
it beats there in the left breast
the envious have not known it well

Left two three four left


From: Toronto, Canada | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Whazzup?
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1471

posted 11 December 2001 07:23 AM      Profile for Whazzup?     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Does anyone remember a Canadian band whose name escapes me (where they from Edmonton?) back in the 1980s who had a truly rockin' good tune called "Socialism (It's a Bad Idea)" -- I'm serious! It brought down the house every time. I remember the first line went --

"Too many laws, too much taxation -- Amen!"

And then the chorus was simply

"It's a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, such a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, piss-poor idea!!"

Once again -- this is not a joke. Did anyone follow the alternative music bck in those days?


From: Under the Rubble | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 11 December 2001 08:47 AM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Catalyst, you brought tears to my eyes. (But why can I still not remember our folk singer -- Cape Breton, beautiful voice -- anyone?) And Adam and Doug, too. Time for a Phil Ochs revival, yes! I only ever remember the oldies, so I read Ochs and Bragg and then I think of "The Banks Are Made of Marble," a great old rabble-rouser. The chorus goes:

But the banks are made of marble
With a guard at every door
And the vaults are line with silver
That we all have laboured for.

(I was going to make a comment about catching the odd whiff of homophobia in the neighbourhood, but the songs are cheering me up too much; maybe the stink will just go away.)


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 11 December 2001 09:19 AM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
But I'm concerned that certain people, other than
Audra, the moderator, feel the need to police or issue veiled threats about how long your tenure on the board will be. Also, how about some consistency here -- isn't there a thread talking about a fascist cohort of Tories hating and kicking puppies, or something?

Why, yes, Twilight, there is - and you'll also notice in that same thread that some of the other users talked about how insensitive such a title was until it was explained by the person who wrote it.

Funny, but I didn't see you protesting too loudly over there about people other than the moderator "policing".

Back to the topic...

That song, "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda" is fantastic - I just love it. There is this bar here in Kingston (well, it's changed formats somewhat while I lived in Toronto, so I don't know if the same guy owns it) where the owner would perform every Saturday night, and he would sing all these Irish and Maritime and British and Australian folk songs - and of course every performance he would sing that song. A whole generation of Kingstonians know that song now because of that bar!


From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 11 December 2001 09:52 AM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Would that be the former Papa (as in the Mamas and the Papas, or however they spelled themselves), Michelle? Is it Papa Denny?
From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 11 December 2001 09:58 AM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
No, his name is Gerry O'Kane, he was the Saturday night headliner at the Brew Pub for a few years before buying his own bar, which used to be called The Wellington for about 8 years or so until they changed the name of it to "Scherzo" - puh-leeeease. How pretentious. And the whole atmosphere has changed in there too.
From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 11 December 2001 10:00 AM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Is it possible, though, that you were thinking of the former singer from the Loving Spoonful, who now owns Chez Piggy? Darn, I forget his name. He doesn't perform there, but it's considered one of the trendier restaurants in town, very yuppie.
From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Dennis J.
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 563

posted 11 December 2001 11:14 AM      Profile for Dennis J.   Author's Homepage        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I have a question for my learned colleagues who might be better informed on this issue than I.

I attended the Saskatchewan Young New Democrat's annual summer camp following the famous electoral defeat of '82, which saw Grant Devine's Conservatives cast us into a nine year abyss in Saskatchewan. Devine's infamous quote was that Saskatchewan was now "Open for business."

A folk singer attended this same camp and treated us to a tune called "Open For Business", based on Devine's boast. I cannot remember the name of that folk singer. Something tells me it was Mendelson Joe, but I'm not absolutely sure. I have been unable to find any trace of this song's existance on the web. I'm pretty sure it was never commercially recorded.

Has anyone else ever heard of this?


From: Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
andrean
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 361

posted 11 December 2001 03:54 PM      Profile for andrean     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Know Your Rights
(The Clash)

This is a public service announcement
With guitar
Know your rights all three of them

Number 1
You have the right not to be killed
Murder is a CRIME!
Unless it was done by a
Policeman or aristocrat

And Number 2
You have the right to food money
Providing of course you
Don't mind a little
Investigation, humiliation
And if you cross your fingers
Rehabilitation

Number 3
You have the right to free
Speech as long as you're not
Dumb enough to actually try it.

Know your rights
These are your rights
All three of 'em

It has been suggested
In some quarters that this is not enough!
Well..............................

Get off the streets
Get off the streets
Run
You don't have a home to go to

Finally then I will read you your rights
You have the right to remain silent
You are warned that anything you say
Can and will be taken down
And used as evidence against you
Listen to this
Run

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: andrean ]


From: etobicoke-lakeshore | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 11 December 2001 04:01 PM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Is it possible, though, that you were thinking of the former singer from the Loving Spoonful, who now owns Chez Piggy?

More than possible! That would be the thought I was thrashing for. Y'see, Catalyst? That's how the old senior moments work.


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
andrean
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 361

posted 11 December 2001 04:47 PM      Profile for andrean     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
INOCULATED CITY
(THE CLASH)

The soldier boy for his soliders pay
Obeys the seargent at arms whatever he says

The seargent will for his seargent's pay
Obey the general order of the battle play

The generals bow to the government
Obey the charge you must not relent

What of the neighbors and the prophets in bars?
What are they saying in the public bazaar?
We are tired of the tune
You must not relent

At every stroke of the bell in the tower there goes
Another boy from another side

The bulletins that steady come in say those
Familiar words at the top of the hour

The jamming city increases its hum
And those terrible words continue to come

Through brass music of government hear those
Guns tattoo a roll on the drums

No-one mentions the neighbouring war
No one knows what they're fighting for
We are tired of the tune
You must not relent


From: etobicoke-lakeshore | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 11 December 2001 06:29 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I'm glad you liked the Eric Bogle, skdadl. He has this funny way of making me tear up , too. This can be embarassing while working on the assembly line

As to your senior moment, either I have achieved a level of seniority I was not prepared for as yet myself or I am precocious.

Is the Cape Breton singer you were thinking of Bruce Guthro? His voice is phenomenal. I have heard him sing on the Stan Rogers Tribute albums and on his album
Of Your Son.
On this album he has a great tune called "Ivey's Wall" which I absolutely adore. In very informal situations, myself and a few friends have sung this one, usually after a few beers.

Ivey's Wall

Stella poured a cup of coffee said I'll take this on the road
See you later Ivey your supper's on the stove
I'm going uptown don't you be out all night
Say hello to Ambey for me and leave the kitchen light on

Now Ivey was a little man who left a giant trail
With a pocket full of change for the kids that life had failed
He lived by pride and principle, he was a blue collar man
He'd take the shirt right off his back and give it to a friend

Chorus:
And down on Ivey's wall, down on Ivey's wall, down on Ivey's wall
Life was just as simple as God planned it
And if it wasn't, then Ivey would demand it

And still I hear him say
You men who hold the power you mostly live in fear
I guess that's why you say exactly what we want to hear
Or maybe you're just puppets, just victims of the game
But it's one these men with hungry kids, man they just don't feel much like playing

(chorus)

And then one morning Ivey silently slipped away
The boys down on the wall were quiet that day
While some men go down telling stories
Of how they rode their trains to glory
Other men just close their eyes and know they did the best they could
with what they had

(Chorus)

More Eric Bogle later, skdadl.

[edited to correct silly typos due to too much blood in my caffeine stream]

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: Catalyst ]


From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 11 December 2001 08:19 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Call me crazy, but you can't beat Paul Robeson!

Click!

Again!

And again!

Once more!

Last time, I promise!

This is the best I could do for lyrics:

Ol' Mand River

<ELONGATED INTRO>
Here we all work 'long the Mississippi
Here we all work while the white folk play
Pullin' them boats from the dawn till sunset
Gettin' no rest till the judgment day

Don't look up and don't look down
Ya don't dast make the white boss frown
Bend your knees and bow your head
And pull that rope until you're dead

Let me go 'way from the Mississippi
Let me go 'way from the white man boss
Show me that stream called the River Jordan
That's the old stream that I long to cross
<END OF INTRO>

Ol' Man River, that Ol' Man River
He must know somepin', but he don't say nothin'
He just keeps rollin', he keeps on rollin' along

He don't plant taters, and he don't plant cotton
And them what plants 'em is soon forgotten
But Ol' Man River, jest keeps rollin' along

You and me, we sweat and strain
Bodies all achin' and wracked with pain
Tote that barge and lift that bale
Ya get a little drunk and ya lands in ja-ail

I gets weary and so sick of tryin'
I'm tired of livin', but I'm feared of dyin'
And Ol' Man River, he just keeps rollin' along

----------

quote:
Ol' Man River is the song most closely associated with Robeson; it
was dedicated to him by composer Jerome Kern and lyricist Oscar
Hammerstein II and was a major element in the musical Showboat.
The original 1927 lyrics reflected the racism in the culture of the
time and were re-written by Robeson to eliminate the racist words
and establish a message of determined defiance.

Original lyrics

Niggers all work on the Mississippi,
Niggers all work while the white folks play.

I gits weary and sick of tryin';
I'm tired of livin' and scared of dyin'
And Ol' man river, he just keeps rollin' along.

Lyrics rewritten by Robeson

There's an old man called the Mississippi,
That's the old man I don't like to be.

I keeps laffin' instead of cryin'
I must keep fightin' until I'm dyin'
And Ol' man river, he just keeps rollin' along.

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: meades ]


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 11 December 2001 08:27 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Interesting tune to Old Man River

Paul Robeson

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home;
Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan, and
What did I see,
Comin' for to carry me home?
A band of angels comin' after me,
Comin' for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home

If you get there before I do
Comin' for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm comin' too
Comin' for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home;
Sometimes I'm up,
Sometimes I'm down,
Comin' for to carry me home;

Yet still my soul feels heavn'ly bound,
Comin' for to carry me home

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin' for to carry me home

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: meades ]


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
vaudree
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1331

posted 11 December 2001 08:42 PM      Profile for vaudree     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Where it that "Ant" song that guy at the NPI rally promised he`d post - I liked that one when they sang it. Different words, better words but it was "The ants go marching on hurrah hurrah " music.

On another note - most of the protest songs I grew Up with had to do with school. I`m sure somebody could come up with the appropriate words for Twisted Sister`s "We`re not gonna take it." Though singing "Summit`s out forever" to the tune of Alice Cooper`s "School`s out" might land a few people in hot water.

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: vaudree ]


From: Just outside St. Boniface | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
bandit
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1435

posted 11 December 2001 08:59 PM      Profile for bandit     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here are some bands I can think of.
-The Guess who's share the land.
-Dead prez (rap)- Animal in man, They Schoolz, propaganda, etc, etc.
-Arrested Development(also rap)
-The Coup (rap)
- The Dead Kennedy's
- The dils
- D.O.A. (b.t.w if anyone knows on what album their cover of taking care of bussiness appears let me know)
-Dropkick murpheys
-john lennon wth. working class heros.
- Rage against the machine
-SLF (punk)
- The Blaggers (I especially like house of the fascist scum)
-the dope poet society with "fuck mike harris"
-the ethiopians (old school ragae) "socialism train"
-The Oppressed
-zearle from red dagger
-bob dylan "the times they are a changing"
-Ani Difranco "history owes me one"
- Jimi Hendrix "if 6 was 9"

From: sudbury | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Tommy_Paine
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 214

posted 11 December 2001 09:30 PM      Profile for Tommy_Paine     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Mention of the Clash reminded me of this one:


Guns of Brixton, The
(Paul Simonon)

When they kick at your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun

When the law break in
How you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting on death row

You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to
Oh, the guns of Brixton

The money feels good
And your life you like it well
But surely your time will come
As in heaven, as in hell

You see, he feels like Ivan
Born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin'
At the end of the harder they come

You know it means no mercy
They caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria
Goodbye to the Brixton sun

You can crush us
You can bruise us
Yes, even shoot us
But oh-the guns of Brixton

When they kick at your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun

You can crush us
You can bruise us
Yes, even shoot us
But oh-the guns of Brixton

Shot down on the pavement
Waiting in death row
His game is called survivin'
As in heaven as in hell

You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to
Oh, the guns of Brixton


From: The Alley, Behind Montgomery's Tavern | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
bandit
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1435

posted 11 December 2001 09:52 PM      Profile for bandit     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Check out the songs of David Rovics @
www.davidrovics.com

my personal faves are "minimum wage strike", "Henry ford was a fascist", and canabis cafe (that makes vancouver sound like amsterdam).


From: sudbury | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 11 December 2001 09:55 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
As promised, before I go to bed tonight, another post of Eric Bogle lyrics for skdadl. As well, the preface t the song from the liner notes.

200 street kids a year, give or take a few hundred, are murdered in the cities of Brazil, mostly by death squads hired by local business interests, and comprising mostly, so we are told, of off-duty policemen and security guards. If children mirror the society they live in, then I don't think I'll bother attending next year's carnival in Rio, where, incidentally, I've set this song. E.Bogle

Mirrors

Intro:
Children are born with trust in their eyes
It's the first thing that we betray
Children are born believing in magic
It's the first thing that we take away
Fill them with doubt instead of magic, and fear instead of trust
And after a while... they're just like us...

On this Earth there is a city, in a rich green pleasant country
Where they kill their children, the children of the streets
Free-enterprise extermination, no wasteful rehabilitation
A bullet is forever, it's so final, quick and cheap
The Death Squads all wear Policemen's badges,
And kill to supplement their wages
Earn their bloody bounty with the gun and club and knife
While profit-conscious businessmen, upright solid citizens
Pay them a few cruzeros for every murdered streetkid's life.

Chorus:

But they're children... they're garbage on the streets
Only children... they're beggars, whores and thieves
Pity the children... cry pity if you will
There's none in the streets of Rio de Janiero in Brazil

To bless this piece of Paradise, high on a hill stands Jesus Christ
Gazing down with sightless eyes on the daily blasphemy
A mocking marble contradiction, arms spread wide in benediction
"Suffer the little children, suffer them to come to me."
The Death Squads cry "Amen! Amen!"
As they bow their knees to Bethlehem
They spit in the face of humankind, turn our dreams to worthless dust
And the future, as it's always done, stares down the barrel of a gun
Which once more begs the question-----
When will the Death Squads come for us?

Chorus:
But they're children... Have you seen their eyes?
Only children... hard and wary and streetwise
Pity the children... There are no children here
Only old eyes fullof hunger, and hate and hope and fear
But they're children... Abandoned and forsaken
Only children... Useless human flotsam
Pity the children... and pity us as well
For in our children's eyes, we see mirrors of ourselves

G'night all. Three more Day shifts 'till Christmas


From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 11 December 2001 10:15 PM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Actually, Vaudree, "We're not gonna take it" is actually a pretty good protest song just as it is, without changed lyrics:

WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT

Chorus:
We're not gonna take it,
No, we ain't gonna take it,
We're not gonna take it anymore!

We've got the right to choose and
There ain't no way we'll lose it.
This is our life, this is our song.

We'll fight the powers that be just
Don't pick our destiny, 'cause
You don't know us, you don't belong.

(chorus)

Oh you're so condescending
Your gall is neverending
We don't want nothin', not a thing from you.

Your life is trite and jaded,
Boring and confiscated
If that's your best, your best won't do.

(chorus)

WE'RE RIGHT/YEAH
WE'RE FREE/YEAH
WE'LL FIGHT/YEAH
YOU'LL SEE/YEAH

(chorus)

Chorus:

(Just you try and make us!)
WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT
(Come on!)
NO, WE AIN'T GONNA TAKE IT
(You're all worthless and weak)
WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE
(Now drop and give me twenty)
WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT
(Oh crinch pin)
NO, WE AIN'T GONNA TAKE IT
(Oh you and your uniform)
WE'RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE

Of course, I always liked "Fight For Your Right To Party" as well:

Fight For Your Right To Party

You wake up late for school and you don't wanna go!
You ask your mom, "Please?" but she still says no!
You missed two classes and no homework,
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk!

You gotta fight...
For your right...
To PAAAAAARRRRRRRTYYYYYYYY!

Your Pop caught you smoking and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite smokes two packs a day!
Maaaaan, living at home is such a drag!
Now your mom threw away your best porno rag! (Busted!)

You gotta fight...
For your right...
To PAAAAAAAARRRRRRRTYYYYYYYY!

Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear!
I'll kick you outta my home if you don't cut that hair!
Your mom busted in and said, "What's that noise?!"
Awwwww, Mom you're just jealous, it's the Beastie Boys!

You gotta fight...
For your right...
To PAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRTYYYYYYYY!

You gotta fight...
For your right...
To PAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRTYYYYYYYY!

PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRTYYYYYYYYYY!
PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRTYYYYYYYYYY!

[ December 11, 2001: Message edited by: Michelle ]


From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 12 December 2001 01:01 PM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
And here, courtesy of Catalyst, the full lyrics for


The Banks Are Made of Marble

A Song by Les Rice

I've traveled round this country
From shore to shining shore
It really made me wonder
The things I heard and saw. I saw the weary farmer
Plowing sod and loam
l heard the auction hammer
A knocking down his home

But the banks are made of marble
With a guard at every door
And the vaults are stuffed with silver
That the farmer sweated for

l saw the seaman standing
Idly by the shore
l heard the bosses saying
Got no work for you no more

But the banks are made of marble
With a guard at every door
And the vaults are stuffed with silver
That the seaman sweated for

I saw the weary miner
Scrubbing coal dust from his back
I heard his children cryin
Got no coal to heat the shack

But the banks are made of marble
With a guard at every door
And the vaults are stuffed with silver
That the miner sweated for

I've seen my brothers working
Throughout this mighty land
l prayed we'd get together
And together make a stand

Final Chorus
Then we'd own those banks of marble
With a guard at every door
And we'd share those vaults of silver
That we have sweated for


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Liam McCarthy
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 800

posted 12 December 2001 01:57 PM      Profile for Liam McCarthy   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quotes:

"Does anyone remember a Canadian band whose name escapes me (where they from Edmonton?) back in the 1980s who had a truly rockin' good tune called "Socialism (It's a Bad Idea)" -- I'm serious! It brought down the house every time. I remember the first line went --
"Too many laws, too much taxation -- Amen!"

And then the chorus was simply

"It's a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, such a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, piss-poor idea!!"

Once again -- this is not a joke. Did anyone follow the alternative music bck in those days? "

I think it was the Dik VanDykes who were from Hamilton. It was on a "It Came From Canada" compilation (Vol.1-3, not on 4). Another line from the song was "putting my paycheque in the hands of many is a bad idea." Great tune, though terribly wrong in its message.

Here's are some of my recent faves:

The Torch
- Lyrics/Music: Dropkick Murphys -

Wash away all the lines on your face that show how you've aged it's a long way down - your back's been broken you can't make the rounds the tables are turned as the litany goes... you're a rotten old man who'll be covered in dirt on your knees and pray to the maker that caused you to bleed

Chorus:
Turn back the hand on the clock you're a bitter old man who's done nothing but work your hands to the bone on the assembly lines you've grown cold to the touch of the ones that you love ignorance is something you can't over come but you've passed it on down and that's something much worse for a bitter young man... is now taking the torch

Silent scorn - you've taken it out on the ones you adore Inside rage - they've left you before but they'll come back again they'll pray for you with all their love but this time your indifference just can't be excused Forced amends - well it's something you'll die with but it goes on for them... for a bitter young man... has now taken the torch...

Boys On The Dock (Dropkick's)
- Lyrics: Casey, Music: Barton -

"Dedicated to the memory of John Kelly”

Chorus: Say hey johnny boy, the battle call United we stand, divided we fall Together we are what we can't be alone We came to this country you made it our home

This man so humble, this man so brave A legend to many, he fought to his grave Saved family and friends from the hardship and horror In a land of depression he gave hope for tomorrow

Say johnny boy this ones for you With the strength of many and the courage of few To what do we owe this man who's fight Was for the masses, he gave his life

(chorus)

A friend to the locals who dabbled in crime He'd give you a job and he'd give you his time He wasn't a crook but he couldn't be conned John knew the difference between right and wrong Say johnny me boy, you live hear no longer Others forgotten, your memories stronger Lets drink to the causes in your life Your family, your friends, the union, your wife

(chorus)

And the boys on the docks needed john for sure When they came to this country he opened the door He said men I'll tell ya they don't like our kind Though it starts with a fist it must end with your mind


From: Windsor, Ont. | Registered: Jun 2001  |  IP: Logged
Whazzup?
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1471

posted 12 December 2001 02:22 PM      Profile for Whazzup?     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Damn, Liam -- that's impressive! Thanks for the info. You should be on Arthur Black's "humline"!
From: Under the Rubble | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Adam
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 358

posted 12 December 2001 02:55 PM      Profile for Adam     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Montrealby Manner Farm
And in my head I've shredded that file a hundred thousand times to march the starred skies and my blacked eyes. But when the landfull lays this close to my heart, I've got to fight it or become it. And I've got my busy hands locked down to my pockets, but no lock can keep them from my tin drum heart that sounds the word rape that makes me want to cry. And every rubberneck, every billboard, every magazine, every tv screen, every office building, every mudflap, every dollar bill, every diet pill, every inch of skin, every kitchen, every suit and tie, every marriage vow, every clenched fist, every bit lip, every connection, every erection, cartoon neon flashes through my mind and the hornets sting and whet my eyes and I see snarling men everywhere with knives. And I'm not convinced it's me and not my cock that's lonely, or if it's only that this ugliness has no retail value. If I could convice myself to get me to leave myself alone, I might see past my stumbling size, my insecurity. I might see past the tall walls of Montreal to the night sky exploding into the forgotten moon.

In Hope by Boy Sets Fire
In hope this little angel will be free from all of their poisons / And in hope I grind my knees into the floor / Praying that he'll never have to feel the pain I have felt / Walking through glass ignorant of the pain in my feet / His sweet little hands, innocent face
So unaware of what lies in waiting / In hope there will be forever waiting for you / In hope you'll never look back and hate these days I've held your hand
Falling away, changing each day to his own fate
Until I am needed no more for his comfort or his joy
In hope there's an answer, and in hope I cry
But I am beaten just the same by this subtle game
As he breaks away / I turn my face to the sky for a way to decline /These fairy tales that will mould into nightmares
This fate laid out in my hands / Unatoned I descend into my own indecision /In hope I can turn this page /Falling away, changing each day to his own fate / When I feel him go running on his own Wait for something more there is not

New Noise by Refused
Can I scream?
It's here for us to admire if we can afford the beauty of it. If we can afford the luxury of turning our heads.
If we can adjust that $1000 smile and behold the creation of man. Great words won't cover ugly actions and good frames
won't save bad paintings.

We lack the motion to move to the new beat. When the day is over the doors are locked on us. 'Cause money buys the access
and we can't pay the cost. And how can we expect anyone to listen if we are using the same old voice? We need new noise! New art for the real people! We lack the motion to move to the new beat.

We dance to all the wrong songs and we enjoy all the wrong moves. We're not leading. Yeah.
The new beat!

Protest song '68 by Refused
"To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs and a little knowledge of music. It is not neccessary
to have an accordion, or a guitar. The essential thing is that I want to sing. Then this is a song, I'm singing." -H. Miller
I breathe in and i create - rewoke the spirit '68. Fresh meaning to torn ideas - let's bring life to old clichés.
Punch a hole in tradition - yeah, let's listen to the songs of discontent - the chords and the movement.
It could all be so simple. We would all stand baffled by the precision and accuracy. Our jaws would hurt from dropping so
hard, fast and unexpected. It would be the perfect metaphor. It would be the perfect song we'd be singing.

I breathe out and i scream - rewoke Malatestas dream. Inspiration from the past - focus to the future at last.
Fixed dogmas can't substitute - creative thought and action. We could be dangerous - art as a real threat.

And all it is it words. Words said a million time before. And all it is is a song. A song sung a million times before.
I breathe in and i create - rewoke the spirit '68. I breathe out and i scream - rewoke Malatestas dream.

source of fuck by Submission Hold

I transcend and reclaim my name
I am the source of fuck/

I am a bitch/I am a cunt/I am a slut/I am a whore

these are the sticks and stones around my neck. dead force with the horsepower to back it up

the hole is not the sum of my parts
so I transcend and reclaim my name/

lying in wait
waiting to lie
with tongue, hand and heart
speaking of a deficiency
of efficient deficiency
speaking of a need/

opposites attract

your attraction to my destruction
you witness my consumption

I am a piece of meat
I am a piece of ass
I am in pieces
but I refuse to come apart

I will always contain these contradictions

the hole is not the sum of my parts

I am proof that I am real

this cunt has a voice
this bitch has a voice
this slut has a voice
this whore has a voice

I have a voice

my anger is the fuel
and this well will never run dry/

this cunt has a brain
this bitch has a heart
this slut has a soul
this whore has a cunt/

I have a voice//

Worker's Paradise by Submission Hold
Imagine if you will:
Every bossman drowning in the blood spilt from a knife in the back of a million corporate CEO's.

The pain of a broken back persists even in our wildest dreams...

[ December 12, 2001: Message edited by: Adam ]


From: MurderHouse Nation | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
bandit
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1435

posted 12 December 2001 05:17 PM      Profile for bandit     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I've just found a pretty good site for radical lyrics.
www.escape.ca/~viking/dhStart.html

[ December 12, 2001: Message edited by: bandit ]


From: sudbury | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Whazzup?
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1471

posted 13 December 2001 08:47 AM      Profile for Whazzup?     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Let's Roll
by Neil Young

I know I said I love you,
I know you know it's true,
I got to put the phone down,
And do what we gotta do.

One's standing in the aisle way,
Two more at the door,
We got to get inside there,
Before they kill some more.

Time is runnin' out, let's roll.
Time is runnin' out, let's roll.

No time for indecision,
We got to make a move,
I hope that we're forgiven,
For what we gotta do.

How this all got started,
I'll never understand,
I hope someone can fly this thing,
Get us back to land.

Time is runnin' out, let's roll.
Time is runnin' out, let's roll.

No one has the answers,
But one thing is true,
You got to turn on evil,
When it's comin' after you.

You got to face it down,
And when it tries to hide,
You got to go in after it,
And never be denied.

Time is runnin' out, let's roll.

Let's roll for freedom,
Let's roll for love,
Goin' after Satan,
On the wings of a dove.

Let's roll for justice,
Let's roll for truth,
Let's not let our children,
Grow up fearful in their youth.

Time is runnin' out, let's roll.
Time is runnin' out, let's roll.
Time is runnin' out, let's roll.


From: Under the Rubble | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
Adam
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 358

posted 13 December 2001 03:59 PM      Profile for Adam     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
ALBRIGHT MONUMENT, BAGDHAD by Propagandhi

Wadia's best friend's youngest sister was denied a proper burial because for two days they couldn't douse the flames the allied planes had showered on her tiny body. And all the paper trails that lead to all the roads that lead to all these Basras make it seem like we're all just "collateral damage" waiting to be happened in some unforeseen Pentagon budget-drill. Today's Ba'ath regime is just the Red Scare of yesteryear. And I drink myself to sleep because I'm losing faith that any of us will ever amount to anything more than reluctant human subsidies, the moving parts in a death-machine, protesting their complicity, but waiting for somebody else to throw their body on the churning gears. I drink myself to sleep because I'm losing faith that we, here in the Cradle of Affluence can cease this sickening drive for individual strength through state-powers' swinging fists or that we'll ever look back and laugh at the irony that is: an atomic murderer is enshrined in Independence, USA while 8000 miles from here (back in the Cradle of Democracy) it's another banner year for a cottage industry – a ritual at the corner of George and Constantine - as foundries scramble to recast his decapitated monument.

Pepper Spray & Billy Clubs by Angry Agency (London Ska-Core!)

I shake my head and close my eyes cause it hurts to much to see,
I realise that your greediness is the cause of poverty,
So I take a stand, open my eyes so happily I see
A thousand other helping hands reach out in unity

Youll pepper spray us if you can
But that wont make us stop
Try to make us fight our fellow man
But we will never fight the cops
We will tear down your entire system
And never throw a punch
In solidarity we fight!

We wont back down, when the pushes come to shove! yeah, look at all the funny pupets playing with their pepper spray and billy clubs!

We kicked your ass in Seattle, you didn't get anything done,
But still you came back for more so on to Washington
The lights are on no ones home, now the stage is set
For the total destruction of the world bank and the IMF

We wont back down, when the pushes come to shove! Look at all the funny pupets playing with their pepper spray and billy clubs!

The Decline by NOFX

Where are all these stupid people from?
And how did they get to be so dumb?
Bred on purple mountain range,
Feed amber waves of grains
To lesser human beings, zero feelings.

Blame it on human nature, man's destiny,
Blame it on the greediocracy,
The fear of God, the fear of change, fear of truth.

Add the Bill of Rights
Subtract the wrongs, Memorize and sing
Star spangled songs,
there's no answers,
when the questions
Aren't ever asked.
Is anybody learning from the past?
We're living in united stagnation,

Father, what have I done?
I took that 22,
A gift for me from you, to bed with me each night.
Kept it clean, polished it well.
Cherished every cartridge, every shell.

Down by the creek under brush under dirt
There's a carcass of my second kill
Down at the park, under stone, under pine
There's a carcass of my brother William.
Brother where have you gone to? I swear
I never thought I could I see...
So many times they told me to shoot straight, don't pull he trigger
squeeze. That will ensure
A kill. A kill is what you want
To kill is why we breed.

The Christians love their guns, the church and NRA.
Pray for their salvation.
Prey on lower faiths.
The story book's been read,
And every line believed.
The curriculum's been set,
And logic is a threat.
Reason searched + seized.

Jerry spent some time in Michigan.
A 20 year vacation. Afterall, he had a dime.
A dime is worth a lot more in Detroit; A dime in California, a 20 dollar fine.
Jerry only stayed a couple months
It's hard to enjoy yourself while
Bleeding out the ass.
Asphyxiation is simple and fast.
It beats 17 fun years of being someone's bitch.

Don't think.
Drink your wine.
Watch the fire burn.
His problems, not mine.
Just be that model citizen.

I wish I had a schilling for every senseless killing.
I'd buy a government.
America's for sale and,
you can get a good deal on it and make a healthy profit.
Or maybe tear it apart: start with
Assumption, that a million people are smarter than 1.

Serotonin's gone. She gave up drifted away.
Sara fled, thought process gone.
She left her answering machine on.
The greeting left spoken sincere,
Messages no one will ever hear.

10,000 messages a day a million more transmissions lay
Dead victims of the laissez faire 10,000 voices
100 guns, 100 decibels turns to one, one bullet
One empty head
now with serotonin gone.

The man that used to speak
Performs a cute routine.
Feel a little patronized.
Don't feel bad. They found
A way inside your head
And you feel a bit misled.
It's not that they don't
Care. The television's
Put a thought inside your
Head like a Barry Manilow
Jingle, I'd like to teach the
World to sing in perfect
Harmony. A symphonic blank
Stare. It doesn't make you care.
Not designed to make you care.
They're betting you wont care.

They'll place a wager on your greed.
A wager on your pride.
Why try to beat them when a million others tried?

We are the whore.
Intellectually spayed
We are the queer.
Dysfunctionally raised.

One more pill to kill the pain,
One more pill to kill the pain
One more pill to kill the pain,
Living through conformity
One more prayer should keep me safe.
One more prayer to keep us safe
One more prayer to keep us safe
There's gonna be a better place.

Lost the battle, lost the war, lost the things
Worth living for. Lost the will to win the fight.
One more pill to kill the pain...

When the going gets tough, the tough get debt.
Don't pay attention, pay the rent.
Our next of kins pay for our sins.
A little faith should keep us safe.

Save us!

The human existence is failing.
Resistance essential. The future
Written off. The odds are astronomically
Against us. Only moron and genius would fight a losing battle against the super
Ego when giving in is so damn comforting.

And so we go on with our lives. We
Know the truth, but prefer lies.
Lies are simple. Simple is bliss. Why
Go against tradition when we can
Admit defeat, Live in decline, Be there
Victim of our own design?
With status quo built on suspect.
Why would anyone stick out their
Neck? Fellow member of club,
We've got ours. I'd
Like to introduce
You to our host
He's got his and I've
Got mine. Meet
THE DECLINE


From: MurderHouse Nation | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 16 December 2001 07:19 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
My apologies to skdadl, et al. as I have been extremely busy. I went to a union meeting Thursday night, a committee meeting this morning and am in the middle of trying to keep on top of my domestic chores before my afternoon shift tomorrow. Also, I have had a hard time trying to post lyrics from my wordperfect files on this thread. Frankly, I am having to type them in and as I use two fingers to do it, it is a lengthy process.

Anyway, one of my favourite songwriters is Ewan MacColl. My favourite song of his is called "My Old Man"

My Old Man

My old man was a good old man
Skilled at the molding trade
In the stinking heat of the iron foundry
My old man was made
Down on his knees in the molding sand
He wore his trade like a company brand
One of the Cyclops' smokey band
Yes that was my old man

My old man wasn't really old
It was just that I was young
And anybody over twelve years old
Was halfway to the tune
He was loyal to his workmates all his
life
Gave his pay packet to his wife
Had a few jars on a Saturday night
Yes that was my old man

My old man was a union man
Fought hard all his days
He understood the system
And was wise to the boss's ways
He said if you want what's yours by
right
You'll have to struggle with all your
might
They'll rob you blind if you don't fight
So that was my old man

My old man was a proud old man
At home on the foundry floor
Until the day they paid him off
And showed him to the door
They gave him his card, said things
are slack
And we've got a machine can learn the
knack
Of doing your job, so don't come back
The end of my old man

My old man he was fifty one
What was he to do?
A craftsman molder on the dole in 1932
He felt he'd given all he could give
So he did what thousands of others did
Abandoned hope and the will to live
They killed him, my old man

My old man, he is dead and gone
Now I am your old man
And my advice to you, my son
Is to fight back while you can
Watch out for the man with the silicon
chip
Hold onto your job with a good firm grip
'Cause if you don't you'll cash your
chips
The same as my old man

Also, here's a shorter a capella Eric Bogle song for skdadl.

Feed the Children
(Eric Bogle)

Have you seen the children
Who deserve our paradise
Staring from th TV
With empty dying eyes
No trace of anger
At the betrayal of the trust
They're left and they die like starving
dogs in the famine's bitter dust

Chorus:
But if you close your ears
You won't hear them crying
If you close your eyes
You won't see tham dying
And if you close your mind
Your heart won't comdemn
If the future's born with every birth
Tell me how much is a child's life worth
We must feed the children of the Earth
Or the future dies with them

And have you seen the madmen
Who strut the world's stage
Threatening our destruction
As they prance and preen and rage
Rattling nuclaer sabers
As humanity holds its breath
Feeding on fear and bigotry
As the children starve to death

(Chorus 2X)

Hopefully, I will post mre later. Thanks again meades for starting this thread.



From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
skdadl
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 478

posted 17 December 2001 04:08 PM      Profile for skdadl     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Do I remember Ewan MacColl singing his own songs, Catalyst? And while we're thumbing through my mouldy memory, do you recall who the furry-voiced singer was who sang about the little frog sitting on the lily pad, doing what he oughter? And there's another Maritimer who sounded just like him, of that generation ...

In response to that beautiful song of Bogle's, I went looking for some Stan Rogers, and found a not-bad official homepage. Don't! skip the intro -- you get to listen to the! classic! rendition of a chorus of North West Passage. Who has ever been so good???

You can find the lyrics to most of Rogers's own songs and the other classics he performed on the Song List (the only audio, sadly, is of his intros to songs). There are Barrett's Privateers and North West Passage, of course, but look also for fun like Up in Fox Island, a good partyin' song: my favourite line is "There's dancin' and singin' and sittin' on chairs." (I was really disappointed not to find the words to Three Fishers, which is a heart-breaking song written by the Kingsley of Water Babies; or to Two-Bit Cayuse, which is for people who know just how high the horse would have to buck you in Calgary so that you could see the lights shinin' in Gleichen. )

Och, but the man was unmatchable.


From: gone | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
janew
webmistress
Babbler # 199

posted 21 December 2001 05:02 PM      Profile for janew     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Still one of my favourites...

Bread and Roses

As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: "Bread and roses! Bread and roses!"
As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for -- but we fight for roses, too!

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler -- ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!


From: Toronto, Ontario | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
Mohamad Khan
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1752

posted 13 January 2002 01:04 PM      Profile for Mohamad Khan   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
wow...i can't believe you people have so much time on your hands...oh well:

"Officer XX" (Asian Dub Foundation)

canteen culture it-a colourin' de view
from Hendon to Eltham, not followin de clue
corruption instruction, life blood a' de blue
all a' de barrel is rotten an' not just a few
evidence buried with a secret handshake
investigatin officers on-a de double-X take
lost records an notes, excuses half-baked
screwed up A4 and dis is no mistake

you know dat dis is no mistake...

Officer XX, this is time to liaise,
let me introduce you to de bran' new craze
no mention a' de gangster--'informer' is de phrase
no communication inna de 'in' and 'out' trays
M15, dem buildin up Combat 18
Nazi turnouts and de BNP in between
runnin de drugs and de guns fe de Loyalists
Macpherson, how come you missed de whole a dis?

come tell me now,
defective constable, what a you got to say?
suspending our belief and still 'pon full pay
Chief Condon is safe, an' what did you expect?
who's up next?
calling Officer XX!

spindoctors and editors engaged in a pact
information leaked out to cover up de facts
daily slackmail onto a nice little earner
while another thousand cases still on the back burner
zero tolerance fe Jack de Home Sec
him a-runnin fe cover ca' him know we pon'-a he neck
him a-huff and him a-puff
inna de name a' de law
when it come to de guilty him a man of Straw!

will ya come tell me now,
defective constable, what a you got to say?
suspending our belief and still 'pon full pay
Chief Condon is safe, well what did you expect?
who's up next?
calling Officer XX!

this shameful spectacle we can see clearly
conspiracy in practice, now not in theory
heard all de report, looked over de whole-a de text
time to step forward now, Officer XX
defective constable, whatcha gotta say?
suspending our belief and still 'pon full pay
Chief Condon is safe, well what did you expect?
who's up next?
who's up next?
calling Officer XX!


From: "Glorified Harlem": Morningside Heights, NYC | Registered: Nov 2001  |  IP: Logged
Dennis J.
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 563

posted 13 January 2002 01:35 PM      Profile for Dennis J.   Author's Homepage        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here's an amusing little ditty that I learned as a young SYNDer at the campfires of Crystal Lake, in days of yore.

Oh....
I'm a socialist and I'm okay,
I eat dead babies everyday,
kick pregnant women in the tummy-tum-tum,
and all I drink is Cuban rum.

Repeat until passed out.

By the way, I did not write this. I learned it at the feet the SYND elders, including someone who will remain nameless, but was a candidate for the Saskatchewan provincial NDP leadership last January.

Needless to say, it's not a serious tune, but a drunken self-parody. So lighten up.


From: Regina, Saskatchewan, CANADA | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Secret Agent Style
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2077

posted 14 January 2002 11:35 PM      Profile for Secret Agent Style        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here are some good British punk and Oi! lyrics, most of them inspired by the Thatcher regime (and one fun one at the end).

--------------------------------------------------

Same Old Story
(By The Oppressed)

Look around your country and you'll
See the state it's in
Homelessness and poverty
Where did it all begin
Hospitals are closing and the
Schools are falling down

The Tory's got the lifeboat and the
Rest of us can drown

And everyday we get the same old story
Just another lie from another Tory

One law for the wealthy man who
Lets his money speak
No law for the working class coz
Justice don't come cheap
So realise what's going on
Before it gets too late
Open up your eyes and see
The bastard you should hate

One day you will understand
Just what they do to you
Then when you see the light
You'll know just what to do
Coz all the years of suffering
And all the broken hearts
Will be remembered
When the revolution starts

--------------------------------------------------

PROPAGANDA
(By Blitz)

Defending this corruption on which you are sat
You tell me what to think, you tell me this and that
Freedom is O.K. you scum` but make sure it`s never used
In your defence of liberty I always stand accused

And your shadow in the sun always give a shock
While the hate mail rises like some kind of moral rock
Propaganda, you scare me to death
Propaganda, you scare me to death

I know you want to lock me up and see justice done
You say get the army in, you hope that day will come
You will give me something to think about Right between my eyes
Then you`ll see your freedom the day that freedom dies

I can`t see many reds underneath my bed
But the fascists in the letter-box are messing up my head
You tell me I`ve got rights, the same for rich and poor
But you`re behind the police when they`re knocking down my door

--------------------------------------------------

Kick Out The Tories.
(By The Newtown Neurotics)

Lets kick out the Tories
the rulers of this land
for they are the enemies
of the British working man
and it shows,while that bastard is in unemployment grows
and it shows,in hospitals,factories and
the schools that they've closed.
Evil will triumph,if good men say nothing
evil will triumph, if good men do nothing
and it shows, while that bastard is in unemployment grows
and it shows, from Toxteth down to the Crumlin Road.

Lets overtrow them soon
cant you see what they're trying to do
we'll all be frying soon
Cant you see what they're trying to do
lets overthrow them soon
cant you see what they're trying to do
they just abuse their power
both black and white are being screwed.

Don't believe every thing that you read in the press
dont believe what you read


lets kick Out The Tories NOW!

--------------------------------------------------

(S)Tory Stories
(By The Warriors)

You're the ones to blame
The ones who vote them in
You're in a mortgage trap
You cannot lose or win
Where's your crawling got you
And licking the bosses arse
Try looking in the mirror
There's a traitor to your class

Tory stories, Tory stories
Tory stories, Tory stories

We drink out of bottles
The toffs out of glasses
What we have in common
We can't stand the middle classes
They moved us out of our cities
Pulled our houses down
Put us in high rise blocks
Forgotten in New Towns

Tory stories, Tory stories
Tory stories, Tory stories

They spunk the lottery money
Like toilet tissue
While homeless on street corners
Try selling the Big Issue
The rich keep getting richer
The poor keep getting poorer
We've got no right to silence
And can't afford a lawyer

Tory stories, Tory stories
Tory stories, Tory stories
Tory stories, Tory stories
Tory stories, Tory stories

--------------------------------------------------

The Ligger's Song
(By Atilla The Stockbroker. Sung to the tune of Leon Rosselson's "The Digger's Song")

Without backstage passes
but with no fear
a bunch of pissheads called the Liggers came
to drink all the free beer
We defied the bouncers, we ignored the bars
We were the drunken hordes
just nicking what weren't ours

"We come in pissed" we said, "to lig and go...
We come to drink up all the lager
and to make the bitter flow
We will not purchase this beer they serve
It's overpriced warn gnat's piss
and they've got a nerve!

This cheap keg brewery we do disdain
No man has any right to water down his ale
for private gain
We are drunk men, though we are poor
You Liggers all grab that free lager,
grab it now!"

From the cheap keg brewery the orders came
They sent the bouncers with no braincells
to wipe out the Ligger's claim
A short exchange of views and we were gone
The beer was safe, but double vision lingers on...

You drunks take courage, you bands take care
This earth was made a common brewery
for everyone to share
All beer in common, all riders one
We came in pissed - the orders came to end our fun!


From: classified | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged
tzone
recent-rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1538

posted 19 January 2002 02:47 AM      Profile for tzone     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Whazzup wrote:

quote:
Does anyone remember a Canadian band whose name escapes me (where they from Edmonton?) back in the 1980s who had a truly rockin' good tune called "Socialism (It's a Bad Idea)" -- I'm serious! It brought down the house every time. I remember the first line went --
"Too many laws, too much taxation -- Amen!"

And then the chorus was simply

"It's a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, such a bad idee-i-ee-i-ee, piss-poor idea!!"


and then Liam McCarthy replied about a version by the Dik VanDykes from Winnipeg. That would have been a cover version. The original artistes were Edmonton's fabulous Jerry Jerry and the Sons of Rhythm Orchestra. I've lost the LP (darn) but I think it was their first release.

They were really hilarious. I'm pretty sure that "Socialism (It's a Bad Idea)" was tongue-in-cheek, but they were from Alberta so it was hard to tell. The also had a fabbo song called "Living on Top of the U.S.A." - great accordion part in it, if that's truly possible.


From: Burnaby, B.C. | Registered: Oct 2001  |  IP: Logged
redshift
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1675

posted 19 January 2002 04:04 AM      Profile for redshift     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
skdadl , possibly Gene maclellan? used to do anne murray, can't find much on the web. had a great voice but looked like a three day dead junkie.
From: cranbrook,bc | Registered: Oct 2001  |  IP: Logged
Secret Agent Style
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2077

posted 03 February 2002 11:12 PM      Profile for Secret Agent Style        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Pleasant Valley Sunday
(By the Monkees)

The local rock group down the street
Is trying hard to learn their song
Serenade the weekend squire, who just came out to mow his lawn

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday
Charcoal burning everywhere
Rows of houses that are all the same
And no one seems to care

See Mrs. Gray she's proud today because her roses are in bloom
Mr. Green he's so serene, He's got a t.v. in every room

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday
Here in status symbol land
Mothers complain about how hard life is
And the kids just don't understand

Creature comfort goals
They only numb my soul and make it hard for me to see
My thoughts all seem to stray, to places far away
I need a change of scenery

Ta Ta Ta...

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday
Charcoal burning everywhere
Another Pleasant Valley Sunday
Here in status symbol land

Another Pleasant Valley Sunday...


From: classified | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged
dan
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 764

posted 04 February 2002 02:00 AM      Profile for dan        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
A friend of mine introduced me to Harry Belafonte's great rendition of Pastures of Plenty by Woody Guthrie. Love the guy's voice (and his politics!)

It’s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
Blue deserts so hot and your mountains so cold

I wandered all over this green growing land
Where ever your crops are I lend you my hands
At the edge of your cities, you’ll see me and then
I come with the dust and I’m gone with the wind

California, Arizona, I worked on your crops
North up to Oregon to gather your hops
I got beets from your ground
I cut grapes from your vines
To sat on our table’s that light that sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the grand Coulee Dam where the water runs down
Every state of this Union us migrants have been
Oh we come with the dust and we’re gone, gone, gone with the wind

It’s always we rambled that river and I
All along your green Valley’s I’d work till I die
I traveled this road until death lets me be
‘Cause pastures of plenty must always be free

It’s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Edge of your cities you see me and then
I come with the dust and I’m gone, gone, gone with the wind


From: outside the loop | Registered: Jun 2001  |  IP: Logged
zena
recent-rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2125

posted 04 February 2002 03:29 AM      Profile for zena     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
woody guthrie rocks!
i haven't heard the harry belafonte version but ive heard woody's tunes many times he's an ol friend

From: high above the clouds | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged
N.R.KISSED
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1258

posted 06 February 2002 12:35 AM      Profile for N.R.KISSED     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Navigator by the Pogues

The canals, and the bridges, the embankments and cuts,

They blasted and dug with their sweat and their guts,
They never drank water but whiskey by pints,

And the shanty towns rang with their songs and their fights.

(CHORUS)
Navigator, Navigator, rise up and be strong,

The morning is here and there's work to be done,
So take your pick and your shovel and the bold dynamite,
For to shift a few tons of this earthly delight,
Yes, to shift a few tons of this earthly delight.

They died in their hundreds, with no sign to mark where,
Save the brass in the pocket of the entrepreneur,
By landslide and rockblast they got buried so deep,
That in death if not life they'll have peace while they sleep

Their mark on this land is still seen and still laid,
The way for a commerce where vast fortunes were made,
The supply of an Empire where the sun never set,
Which is now deep in darkness but the railway's there yet

[ February 06, 2002: Message edited by: N.R.KISSED ]


From: Republic of Parkdale | Registered: Aug 2001  |  IP: Logged
Catalyst
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 237

posted 06 February 2002 06:28 PM      Profile for Catalyst   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Our definitely unprofessional Labour music band, Out of Order sang that very tune at the May Day celebration in 1997. I was hoping somebody besides me would post lyrics to one of their tunes. I absolutely love their version of "Thousands are Sailing" and "The Broad Majestic Shannon."
From: gone | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 06 February 2002 11:23 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
American woman gonna mess your mind
American woman, she gonna mess your mind
American woman gonna mess your mind
American woman gonna mess your mind
Say A,
Say M,
Say E,
Say R,
Say I,
Say C,
Say A,
Say N,
American woman gonna mess your mind
American woman gonna mess your mind
American woman gonna mess your mind

American woman, stay away from me
American woman, mama let me be
Don’t come hangin’ around my door
I don’t wanna see your face no more
I got more important things to do
Than spend my time growin’ old with you
Now woman, I said stay away,
American woman, listen what I say.

American woman, get away from me
American woman, mama let me be
Don’t come knockin’ around my door
Don’t wanna see your shadow no more
Coloured lights can hypnotize
Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, I said get away
American woman, listen what I say.

American woman, said get away
American woman, listen what I say
Don’t come hangin’ around my door
Don’t wanna see your face no more
I don’t need your war machines
I don’t need your ghetto scenes
Coloured lights can hypnotize
Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away from me
American woman, mama let me be.

Go, gotta get away, gotta get away
Now go go go
Gonna leave you, woman
Gonna leave you, woman
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
You’re no good for me
I’m no good for you
Gonna look you right in the eye.
Tell you what I’m gonna do
You know I’m gonna leave
You know I’m gonna go
You know I’m gonna leave
You know I’m gonna go, woman
I’m gonna leave, woman
Goodbye, American woman
Goodbye, American chick
Goodbye, American broad ...


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Debra
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 117

posted 07 February 2002 12:00 PM      Profile for Debra   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Thomas Hood, 1843
1. With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

"Work! work! work!
While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work—work—work,
Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's Oh! to be a slave
Along with the barbarous Turk,
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!

"Work—work—work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!

"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!
Oh, men, with Mothers and Wives!
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch—stitch—stitch,
In poverty, hunger and dirt,
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A Shroud as well as a Shirt.

"But why do I talk of Death?
That Phantom of grisly bone,
I hardly fear its terrible shape,
It seems so like my own—
It seems so like my own,
Because of the fasts I keep;
Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,
And flesh and blood so cheap!
6. "Work—work—work!
My labour never flags;
And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread—and rags.
That shatter'd roof—and this naked floor—
A table—a broken chair—
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!

"Work—work—work!
From weary chime to chime,
Work—work—work—
As prisoners work for crime!
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd.
As well as the weary hand.

"Work—work—work,
In the dull December light,
And work—work—work,
When the weather is warm and bright—
While underneath the eaves
The brooding swallows cling
As if to show me their sunny backs
And twit me with the spring.

"Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet—
With the sky above my head,
And the grass beneath my feet,
For only one short hour
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want
And the walk that costs a meal!

"Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite however brief!
No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for Grief!
A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed
My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread!"


With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,—
Would that its tone could reach the Rich!—
She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"


From: The only difference between graffiti & philosophy is the word fuck... | Registered: Apr 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 25 May 2002 05:51 AM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Talkin' Bout a Revolution By Tracy Chapman

Don't you know
They're talking bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution
It sounds like a whisper

While they're standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
Poor people gonna rise up
And get their share
Poor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs

Don't you know
You better run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run.
Oh I said you better
Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run.

Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Oh...
Talkin' bout a revolution
Oh...

Standing in the welfare lines
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation
Wasting time in the unemployment lines
Sitting around waiting for a promotion

Don't you know
They're talkin' bout a revolution
It sounds like a whisper
And finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Yes, finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution
Oh...
Talkin' bout a revolution
Oh...
Talkin' bout a revolution
Oh...


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 25 May 2002 06:08 AM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Why By Tracy Chapman (yes, I'm on a Tracy Chapman kick...)

Why do the babies starve
When there's enough food to feed the world
Why when there're so many of us
Are there people still alone

Why are the missiles called peace keepers
When they're aimed to kill
Why is a woman still not safe
When she's in her home

Love is hate
War is peace
No is yes
And we're all free

But somebody's gonna have to answer
The time is coming soon
Admidst all these questions and contradictions
There're some who seek the truth

But tell me why do the babies starve
When there's enough food to feed the world
Why when there're so many of us
Are there people still alone

Why are the missiles called peace keepers
When they're aimed to kill
Why is a woman still not safe
When she's in her home

Love is hate
War is peace
No is yes
And we're all free

But somebody's gonna have to answer
The time is coming soon
When the blind remove their blinders
There're some who seek the truth

Tell me why do the babies starve
When there's enough food to feed the world
Why when there're so many of us
Are there people still alone

Why are the missiles called peace keepers
When they're aimed to kill
Why is a woman still not safe
When she's in her home

Love is hate
War is peace
No is yes
And we're all free


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 25 May 2002 06:20 AM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Rape of the World by Tracy Chapman

Mother of us all
Place of our birth
How can we stand aside
And watch the rape of the wolrd

This the beginning of the end
This the most heinous of crimes
This the deadliest of sins
The greatest violation of all time

Mother of us all
Place of our birth
We all are witness
To the rape of the world

You've seen her stripped mined
You've heard of bombs exploded underground
You know the sun shines
Hotter than ever before

Mother of us all
Place of our birth
We all are witness
To the rape of the world

Some claim to have crowned her a queen
With cities of concrete and steel
But there is no glory no honor in what results
From the rape of the world

Mother of us all
Place of our birth
We all are witness
To the rape of the world


She has been clear-cut
She has been dumped on
She has been poisoned and beaten up
And we have been witness
To the rape of the world

Mother of us all
Place of our birth
How can we stand aside
And watch the rape of the world


If you look you'll see it with your own eyes
If you listen you will hear her cries
If you care you will stand and testify
And stop the rape of the world

Stop the rape of the world
Mother of us all
Mother of us all
Mother of us all
Mother of us all...


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
grasshopper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2330

posted 25 May 2002 03:49 PM      Profile for grasshopper     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
This is a great thread .
So many songs come to mind .
I'll give you this one 'cause Michelle Shocked does it, and because it's a great song .
I saw Michelle last fall .
An amazing show . Don't miss the chance to see her perform .

The L&N Don't Stop Here Anymore

Written by Jean Ritchie

When I was a curly headed baby
My daddy set me down on his knee
Saying, "Son you go to school
You learn your letters
Now, don't you be no dusty miner, boy, like me"

Oh, I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazzard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
Now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L&N don't stop here anymore

I used to think my daddy was a black man
With scrip enough to buy the company store
But now he goes to town with empty pockets
And, Lord, his face is white
As the February snow

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazzard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L&N don't stop here anymore

Never thought I'd live to learn to love the coaldust
Never thought I'd pray to hear those temples roar
But, God, I wish the grass would turn to money
And then them greenbacks
Would fill my pockets once more

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazzard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L&N don't stop here anymore

Last night I dreamed I went down to the office
To get my payday like I done before
But them old kudzu vines, they was covering over the doorway
And there was leaves and grass
Growing right up to the floor

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazzard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L&N don't stop here anymore
Because the L&N don't stop here anymore
Aw, the L&N don't stop here anymore


From: henry dargers attic | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
grasshopper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2330

posted 25 May 2002 03:59 PM      Profile for grasshopper     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Maybe some of you have heard the original version of this one . I know Johnny Cash does it . I like his version . The song is by Merle Travis (Randys pappy) It's called Dark As The Dungeon ...

here is Merles spoken intro from 1946 ...

It's as dark as a dungeon way down in the mine...
SPOKEN:
I never will forget one time when I was on a little visit down home in Ebenezer, Kentucky. I was a-talkin' to an old man that had known me ever since the day I was born, and an old friend of the family. He says, "Son, you don't know how lucky you are to have a nice job like you've got and don't have to dig out a livin' from under these old hills and hollers like me and your pappy used to." When I asked him why he never had left and tried some other kind of work, he says, "Nawsir, you just won't do that. If ever you get this old coal dust in your blood, you're just gonna be a plain old coal miner as long as you live." He went on to say, "It's a habit [CHUCKLE] sorta like chewin' tobaccer."

Come and listen you fellows, so young and so fine,
And seek not your fortune in the dark, dreary mines.
It will form as a habit and seep in your soul,
'Till the stream of your blood is as black as the coal.
CHORUS:
It's dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew,
Where danger is double and pleasures are few,
Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines
It's dark as a dungeon way down in the mine.
It's a-many a man I have seen in my day,
Who lived just to labor his whole life away.
Like a fiend with his dope and a drunkard his wine,
A man will have lust for the lure of the mines.

I hope when I'm gone and the ages shall roll,
My body will blacken and turn into coal.
Then I'll look from the door of my heavenly home,
And pity the miner a-diggin' my bones.

ADDITIONAL STANZA RARELY PERFORMED BY MERLE TRAVIS:
The midnight, the morning, or the middle of day,
Is the same to the miner who labors away.
Where the demons of death often come by surprise,
One fall of the slate and you're buried alive.


From: henry dargers attic | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
Rebecca West
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1873

posted 25 May 2002 05:34 PM      Profile for Rebecca West     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
BLACK BOYS ON MOPEDS
(Sinead O'Connor)

Margareth Thatcher on TV
Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing
It seems strange that she should be offended
The same orders are given by her

I've said this before now
You said I was childish and you'll say it now
"Remember what I told you
If they hated me they will hate you"

England's not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It's the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving
I don't want him to be aware that there's
Any such thing as grieving

Young mother down at Smithfield
5 am, looking for food for her kids
In her arms she holds three cold babies
And the first word that they learned was "please"

These are dangerous days
To say what you feel is to dig your own grave
"Remember what I told you
If you were of the world they would love you"

England's not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It's the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving
I don't want him to be aware that there's
Any such thing as grieving.


From: London , Ontario - homogeneous maximus | Registered: Nov 2001  |  IP: Logged
'lance
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1064

posted 25 May 2002 07:44 PM      Profile for 'lance     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Ruby (Don't Take Your Love to Town)

Not obviously a protest song, and it partakes of some of that old-time country violence ("And if I could move I'd get my gun and put her in the ground").

But maybe it was, in a subtle way.


From: that enchanted place on the top of the Forest | Registered: Jul 2001  |  IP: Logged
Tribute To Our Times
recent-rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2602

posted 25 May 2002 10:52 PM      Profile for Tribute To Our Times   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Dropkick Murphys - Boys On The Docks

say hey johnny boy, the battle call united we stand, divided we fall together we are what we can't be alone we came to this country you made it our home this man so humble, this man so brave a legend to many, he fought to his grave saved family and friends from the hardship and horror in a land of depression he gave hope for tomorrow say johnny boy this ones for you with the strength of many and the courage of few to what do we owe this man who's fight was for the masses, he gave his life a friend to the locals who dabbled in crime he'd give you a job and he'd give you his time he wasn't a crook but he couldn't be conned john knew the difference between right and wrong say johnny me boy, you live hear no longer others forgotten, your memory's stronger lets drink to the causes in your life your family, your friends, the union, your wife and the boys on the docks needed john for sure when they came to this country he opened the door he said men i'll tell ya they don't like our kind though it starts with a fist it must end with your mind


From: The Left | Registered: May 2002  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 26 May 2002 03:53 AM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Eve of Destruction By Barry McGuire

The Eastern world, it is explodin',
Violence flarin', bullets loadin'.
You're old enough to kill, but not for votin',
You don't believe in war -- but what's that gun you're totin'?
An' even the Jordan river has bodies floatin'.
But you tell me, over and over and over again, my friend,
Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction.

Don't you understand what I'm tryin' to say,
An' can't you feel the fears I'm feelin' today?
If the button is pushed, there's no runnin' away,
There'll be no one to save, will the world in a grave.
Take a look around you, boy, it's bound to scare you, boy.
An' you tell me, over and over and over again, my friend,
Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction.

Yeak, my blood's so mad feels like coagulatin',
I'm sittin' here just contemplatin'.
I can't twist the truth, it knows no regulation,
Handful of senators don't pass legislation,
An' marches alone can't bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin',
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'.
An' you tell me, over and over and over again, my friend,
Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction.

Think of all the hate there is in Red China,
Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama.
Ah, you may leave here for four days in space,
But when you return it's the same ol' place,
The poundin' of the drums, the pride an' disgrace.
You can bury your dead, but don't leave a trace.
Hate your next-door neighbor, but don't forget to say grace,
An' tell me, over and over and over again, my friend,
You don't believe we're on the eve of destruction,
No, no, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction.

Time Has Come Today By The Chambers Brothers

Time has come today
Young hearts can go their way
Can't put it off another day
And I don't care what the others say
'Cause they say we don't listen anyway
Time has come today, Hey!

The rules have changed today, Hey!
I have no place to stay, Hey!
And I'm thinkin' about the subway, Hey!
Love has gone away, Hey!
And tears have come and gone, Hey!
Oh my God, I have to run, Hey!
I have no home, Hey!
I have no home, Hey!

Now the time has come, Time!
There's no place to run, Time!
Might get burned up by the sun, Time!
Well, I've had my fun, Time!
Well, I've been loved and put aside, Time!
And I've been crushed by tumblin' tide, Time!
And my soul's be psychedelicized, Time!

Now the time has come, Time!
There are things to realize, Time!
Time has come today, Time!
Time has come today, Time!

Time!

Now the time has come, Time!
There are things to realize, Time!
Time has come today, Time!
Time has come today, Time!

Time!

Now the time has come, Time!
Time has come today, Time!
Time has come today, Yeah!


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
Casper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1406

posted 26 May 2002 01:33 PM      Profile for Casper        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Anybody mention Rage Against the Machine yet?

I also have affection for Quebecker Michel Rivard's Shefferville, Le Dernier Train - story of the death of a mining town. Not exactly a protest song, but makes me weep.


From: Another smoky metropolis | Registered: Sep 2001  |  IP: Logged
NDB
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1234

posted 26 May 2002 01:47 PM      Profile for NDB     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Resisting Tyrannical Government (Propagandhi, Less Talk, More Rock – 19??)

Why don't we all strap bombs to our chests and ride our bikes to the next G-7 picnic?
It seems easier with every clock tick.
But whose will would that represent? Mine? Yours? The rank-and-file?
Or better yet: the Government?

But I don't want to catalyze or synthesize the second Final Solution.
I don't want to be the Steve Smith of the revolution.
Do you see the analogy? We're the Oilers. The World Bank- the Flames!
And just 2 minutes remain in the 7th game of the best of 7 series! Yeah!

Jesus saves! Gretzky scores!
The workers slave. The rich get more.
One wrong move and we risk the Cup.
So play The Man, not the puck.

Why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the memory of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty?
And yes, I recognize the irony that the very system I oppose affords me the luxury of biting the hand that feeds.
But that's exactly why priviledged fucks like me should feel obliged to whine and kick and scream- until everyone has everything they need.


From: Ottawa | Registered: Aug 2001  |  IP: Logged
skadie
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2072

posted 26 May 2002 05:32 PM      Profile for skadie     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
fuel
ani difranco


they were digging a new foundation in manhattan
and they discovered a slave cemetary there
may their souls rest easy
now that lynching is frowned upon
and we've moved on to the electric chair
and i wonder who's gonna be president, tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?
and who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?
how about we put up a wall between houses and the highway
and you can go your way, and i can go my mine
except all the radios agree with all the tvs
and all the magazines agree with all the radios
and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go
maybe i should put a bucket over my head
and a marshmallow in each ear
and stumble around for
another dumb-numb week for another hum drum hit song to appear

people used to make records
as in a record of an event
the event of people playing music in a room
now everything is cross-marketing
its about sunglasses and shoes
or guns and drugs
you choose
we got it rehashed
we got it half-assed
we're digging up all the graves
and we're spitting on the past
and you can choose between the colors
of the lipstick on the whores
cause we know the difference between
the font of 20% more
and the font of teriyaki
you tell me
how does it make you feel?

you tell me
what's real?


and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
even when they're as dry as my lips for years
even when they're stranded on a small desert island
with no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
and i wonder
is he different?
is he different?
has he changed? what's he about?...
or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?

am i headed for the same brick wall
is there anything i can do about
anything at all?
except go back to that corner in manhattan
and dig deeper, dig deeper this time
down beneath the impossible pain of our history
beneath unknown bones
beneath the bedrock of the mystery
beneath the sewage systems and the path train
beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
beneath everything i can think of to think about
beneath it all, beneath all get out
beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
there's a fire just waiting for fuel

there's a fire just waiting for fuel


From: near the ocean | Registered: Jan 2002  |  IP: Logged
Arch Stanton
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2356

posted 26 May 2002 06:08 PM      Profile for Arch Stanton     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
"In my Little Wigan Garden"

George Formby


From: Borrioboola-Gha | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 26 May 2002 07:58 PM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
All You Fascists Words: Woody Guthrie (1942) Music: Billy Bragg (1997)

I'm gonna tell all you fascists you may be surprised
The people all over this world are getting organized
You're bound to lose, you fascists are bound to lose

Race hatred cannot stop us this one thing I know
Your poll tax and Jim Crow and greed have got to go
You're bound to lose, you fascists bound to lose

All of you fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You're bound to lose! You fascists!
You're bound to lose!

People of every colour marching side by side
Marching 'cross these fields where a million fascists died
You're bound to lose, you fascists bound to lose

All of you fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You're bound to lose! You fascists!
You're bound to lose!

I'm going into this battle, and take my union gun
We'll end this world of slavery before this battle's won
You're bound to lose, you fascists bound to lose

All of you fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You're bound to lose! You fascists!
You're bound to lose!

I said all of you fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You fascists bound to lose
You're bound to lose! You fascists!
You're bound to lose!


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
rosebuds
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2399

posted 27 May 2002 12:05 AM      Profile for rosebuds     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Hosanna Heysanna sanna sanna ho sanna hey sanna hosanna...

Jesus Christ Superstar.


From: Meanwhile, on the other side of the world... | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
Rebecca West
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 1873

posted 27 May 2002 12:01 PM      Profile for Rebecca West     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
THE DEAD HEART
(Midnight Oil)

We don't serve your country
Don't serve your king
Know your custom don't speak your tongue
White man came took everyone

We don't serve your country
Don't serve your king
White man listen to the songs we sing
White man came took everything

We carry in our hearts the true country
And that cannot be stolen
We follow in the steps of our ancestry
And that cannot be broken

We don't need protection
Don't need your land
Keep your promise on where we stand
We will listen we'll understand

Mining companies, pastoral companies
Uranium companies
Collected companies
Got more right than people
Got more say than people
Forty thousand years can make a difference to the state of things
The dead heart lives here


From: London , Ontario - homogeneous maximus | Registered: Nov 2001  |  IP: Logged
grasshopper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2330

posted 27 May 2002 07:01 PM      Profile for grasshopper     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Midnight Oil gives me gooseflesh .
From: henry dargers attic | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
grasshopper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2330

posted 27 May 2002 07:36 PM      Profile for grasshopper     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I will try to remember all the words to a song my friend wrote .( with borrowed words from chief seattle )

One Earth (by jonathan ledrew )

One earth communicating
to everything that's living
one earth full of love
can't stop the pain from ever happening
now you'll see what has to be done
in this mad mad world

after twenty two thousand generations
of living experience
we should know by now what has to be done
what has to be done
we have to be a family
again
just like we used to be
way back when

But it's only after the last tree has been cut
it's only after the last river has been poisoned
it's only after the last fish has been fished
will you real real real real
eyes eyes eyes eyes
will you real real real real
eyes eyes eyes eyes
that you can't
no you can't
that you can't

you can't eat money
you can't eat money
you can't eat money

one earth communicating
to everything that's living
one earth full of love
can't stop the pain from even happening

mother earth is crying
I'm drowning in her tears
mother earth is loving
I'm swimming in her eyes

are we just goona keep on thrashing her ?
are we just gonna keep on thrashing her ?

after twenty two thousand generations
of living experience
we should know by now what has to be done
its what David Suzuki's been telling me
and telling you
we have to be a family
again
just like we used to be
way back when

we have to be
we have to be
we have to be

one earth


From: henry dargers attic | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
meades
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 625

posted 29 May 2002 03:00 AM      Profile for meades     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Generally, as a personal rule I've not been posting Bob Dylan songs, since I'd never stop. There's really too many for one thread. But I couldn't resist this one- It's definitely one of the most powerful songs I've ever heard:

Masters of War by, of course, Bob Dylan

Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion
While the young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead


From: Sault Ste. Marie | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
grasshopper
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2330

posted 30 May 2002 11:01 PM      Profile for grasshopper     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Babylon System

We refuse to be
What you wanted us to be
We are what we are
That's the way it's going to be, if you don't know
You can't educate I
For no equal opportunity
Talking about my freedom
People freedom and liberty

Yeah, we've been trodding on
The winepress much too long
Rebel, Rebel
We've been trodding on the
Winepress much too long, Rebel

Babylon System is the Vampire
Sucking the children day by day
Me say the Babylon System is the Vampire
Sucking the blood of the sufferers
Building church and university
Deceiving the people continually
Me say them graduating thieves and murderers
Look out now
Sucking the blood of the sufferers

Tell the children the truth
Tell the children the truth
Tell the children the truth right now
Come on and tell the children the truth
(repeat)

'Cause we've been trodding on
The winepress much too long
Got to Rebel, Got to Rebel Now

We've been taken for granted
Much too long, Rebel
(repeat)

From the very day we left the shores
Of our father's land
We've been trampled on, oh now
Now we know everything we got to rebel
Somebody got to pay for the work
We've done, Rebel

(Bob Marley)


From: henry dargers attic | Registered: Mar 2002  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 29 January 2004 10:49 PM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Allentown - Billy Joel

Well we're living here in Allentown
And they're closing all the factories down
Out in Bethlehem they're killing time,
Filling out forms, standing in line.

But our fathers fought the second World War
Spent their weekends on the Jersey shore,
Met our mothers in the USO,
Asked them to dance; danced with them slow

And we're living here in Allentown,
But the restlessness was handed down,
And it's getting very hard to stay-ay-ay-ay...

Well we're waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania we never found,
All the promises our teachers made
If we worked hard, if we behaved.

So the graduations hang on the wall,
But they never really helped us at all,
No they never taught us what was real,
Iron and coal, chromium steel.

And we're waiting here in Allentown,
But they've taken all the coal from the ground,
And the union people thrown away-ay-ay-ay...

Every child had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far as their old man got
But something happened on the way to that place,
They threw an American flag in our fa-a-ace...

Well I'm living here in Allentown,
And it's hard to keep a good man down,
But I won't be getting up today-ay-ay-ay...

And it's getting very hard to stay-ay-ay...
And we're living here in Allentown.


From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
windymustang
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4509

posted 29 January 2004 11:33 PM      Profile for windymustang     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Hey Andy...I never even realized that
quote:
Pleasant Valley Sunday
(By the Monkees)
was a protest song. I remember singing it as a kid.

Did anyone mention the coal miners songs that Rita McNeil made popular with the Coal Miners Choir? There's some really heart wrenching stuff.

Edited to add: What about The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald along the same lines?(Gordon Lightfoot)

[ 29 January 2004: Message edited by: windymustang ]


From: from the locker of Mad Mary Flint | Registered: Oct 2003  |  IP: Logged
al-Qa'bong
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3807

posted 29 January 2004 11:33 PM      Profile for al-Qa'bong   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Whazzup's Jerry Jerry song is from an LP called "Battle Hymn of the Apartment." There's another one on there called "Radical look" that he might like.

I Wish I Was A Mole In The Ground
Traditional - Bascom Lamar Lunsford

I wish I was a mole in the ground
I wish I was a mole in the ground
If I’s a mole in the ground
I’d root that mountain down
And I wish I was a mole in the ground

Oh, Kimpy wants a nine dollar shawl
Oh, Kimpy wants a nine dollar shawl
When I come over the hill with a 40 dollar bill
Baby, where you been so long?

I been in the pen so long
I been in the pen so long
I been in the pen with the rough and rowdy men
Baby, where you been so long?
I don’t like a railroad man
I don’t like a railroad man

Cause a railroad man they’ll kill you when he can
And drink up your blood like wine
I wish I was a lizard in the spring
I wish I was a lizard in the spring

If I’s a lizard in the spring I’d hear my darlin’ sing
Yes, I wish I was a lizard in the spring

Come, Kimpy, let your hair roll down
Come, Kimpy, let your hair roll down
Let your hair roll down and your bangs curl around
Oh Kimpy, let your hair roll down


From: Saskatchistan | Registered: Feb 2003  |  IP: Logged
Agent 204
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4668

posted 30 January 2004 10:32 PM      Profile for Agent 204   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Let's not forget a recent addition to the canon: the Tennessee Twin did a pretty good tune called "Free To Do What?" Yes it's true- not all country singers are right wing.
From: home of the Guess Who | Registered: Nov 2003  |  IP: Logged
Jimmy Brogan
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3290

posted 30 January 2004 11:10 PM      Profile for Jimmy Brogan   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised


You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.


From: The right choice - Iggy Thumbscrews for Liberal leader | Registered: Nov 2002  |  IP: Logged
worker_drone
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4220

posted 31 January 2004 02:37 PM      Profile for worker_drone        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Sweetheart on the Barricade (Richard Thompson)

They closed up the sooty gates of Ayres and Company
We stood on the picket line, my Jennifer and me
We blocked the street, now the lorries come and turn about
There's nothing getting in there and there's nothing getting out

Oh, she's just a tender thing
She's risking life and limb
My sweetheart's on the barricade
My heart it skips a beat
There'll be fighting in the street
But hungry folk forget to be afraid
My sweetheart's on the barricade

And here come the managers to hit us on the sly
And tinpot generals with glory in their eyes
Owners, moaners, Judases and Janes
But righteousness is in our eyes, we've got no time for games

In her manner she is mild
And fairly just a child
My sweetheart's on the barricade
For a fair wage in her hand
The equal of a man
She'll stand front rank in the parade
My sweetheart's on the barricade

She's running leaflets through the alley
She's passing hymn books at the rally
Halleluiah!

Friends and neighbours, won't you join the cause
Drill it in the tiny minds of them that make the laws
That workers are human, we're really just the same
We've got to have the nourishment to fill a human frame

Oh, we're people not a mob
And we only wants a job
My sweetheart's on the barricade
We've had it up to here
Too numb to feel the fear
My sweetheart's on the barricade
My heart it skips a beat
There'll be fighting in the street
My sweetheart's on the barricade


From: Canada | Registered: Jun 2003  |  IP: Logged
Agent 204
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4668

posted 31 January 2004 05:02 PM      Profile for Agent 204   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Update- here's the lyrics to the aforementioned "Free To Do What?" (music and lyrics by Cindy Wolfe):

Once upon a time I took a class called History
It taught me how to make the world safe for democracy
But when I raised my hand, asking what had United Fruit planned
Teacher said just sit back and thank God that you're free

(chorus):
Free to do what? To buy this thing or that
Free to do what? To choose this white man or that
Free to do what? To ruin the whole world
What I've been taught as a North American girl

Flip through all the channels just to see what you can see
Tell me which corporations decide what is newsworthy
Can I talk about this on TV? Why can't it be up to me?
Didn't I read somewhere that the press is always free?

(chorus)

Mr. President from the elections that weren't free
Thanks for all the violence and all the hypocrisy
What will make you understand that we won't be at your command?
Say all you want that you're the leader of the free

(chorus)

[ 31 January 2004: Message edited by: Mike Keenan ]


From: home of the Guess Who | Registered: Nov 2003  |  IP: Logged
flotsom
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2832

posted 31 January 2004 08:53 PM      Profile for flotsom   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Partisan by Anna Marly and Hy Zaret

from Leonard Cohen's "Songs From a Room"

When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender,
this I could not do;
I took my gun and vanished.

I have changed my name so often,
I've lost my wife and children
but I have many friends,
and some of them are with me.

An old woman gave us shelter,
kept us hidden in the garret,
then the soldiers came;
she died without a whisper.

There were three of us this morning
I'm the only one this evening
but I must go on;
the frontiers are my prison.

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we'll come from the shadows.

Allemands e'taient chez moi,
ils me dirent, "Signe toi,"
mais je n'ai pas peur;
j'ai repris mon arme.
J'ai change' cent fois de nom,
j'ai perdu femme et enfants
mais j'ai tant d'amis;
j'ai la France entie`re.
Un vieil homme dans un grenier
pour la nuit nous a cache',
les Allemands l'ont pris;
il est mort sans surprise.

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we'll come from the shadows.

(translation of verse in French)

The Germans were at my home
They said, "Sign yourself,"
But I am not afraid
I have retaken my weapon.
I have changed names a hundred times
I have lost wife and children
But I have so many friends
I have all of France
An old man, in an attic
Hid us for the night
The Germans captured him
He died without surprise.

[ 31 January 2004: Message edited by: flotsom ]


From: the flop | Registered: Jul 2002  |  IP: Logged
koan brothers
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3242

posted 31 January 2004 10:16 PM      Profile for koan brothers     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
Bob Dylan

William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath'rin'.
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

William Zanzinger, who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland,
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering, and his tongue it was snarling,
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

Hattie Carroll was a maid of the kitchen.
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn't even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level,
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room,
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle.
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger.
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Take the rag away from your face.
Now ain't the time for your tears.

In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all's equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain't pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught 'em
And that the ladder of law has no top and no bottom,
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin' that way without warnin'.
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished,
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance,
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence.
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears,
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears.


From: desolation row | Registered: Oct 2002  |  IP: Logged
Erstwhile
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 4845

posted 02 February 2004 02:38 PM      Profile for Erstwhile     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Leon Rosselson's Song of the Old Communist is one of the sweetest and saddest political songs I've ever heard.

He was one of those dogged old men
Who lived in the past
Telling stories you don't want to know
About how it was then, the hunger, the hardship
The hopes and the struggles of so long ago

And we must have looked bored,
For like sparks from the cinders,
His eyes glowed with anger, his words seemed to burn;
He said "I will be heard, for my life is not over;
I've something to say yet, you've something to learn."

He said, "You, who have nothing at all to believe in;
To you, whose motto is, 'money comes first';
Who are you, to tell us that our lives have been wasted?
That all that we've fought for has turned into dust?

"I was only a lad when we read that in Russia,
The workers, the Soviets, had taken all power,
And the man they called Lenin, who led them,
Was our inspiration; his triumph was our finest hour.

"And I'll always remember how fear shook the wealthy,
Like thieves who have just been caught out in their crime!
But we, who had known only war and the workhouse
Rejoiced, that a new world was born in that time!

"You can't know what it meant, or the pride that we felt
To know working people, people like us
Could shake off the shackles, could topple the palaces,
Remake the world without ruler or boss!

"It was this kept us going, this dream of a new world,
Through all those dark years of defeat and despair
When we, who were proud to proclaim ourselves Communists,
Fought for that world free from hunger and fear.

"It was, 'Down with the Means Test! No cuts in our wages!
We want three pounds a week and a seven-hour day!'
And there wasn't a thing that we got but we fought for it -
Don't you know bosses give nothing away?

"And the strikes and the marches, the battles to beat off
The bailiffs and coppers when hope was still young.
Hot heads and hot hearts, as we tested our power -
'The Workers Triumphant', that was our song."

For a time he was silent, and lost in his memories.
Then, but more softly, his words came again.
"P'raps we hoped for too much, p'raps the cost was too much -
There are things I know now that I couldn't know then.

"We believed revolution was just 'round the corner
And we were the vanguard to bring it about!
And the other Left parties, we classed as class traitors.
Bourgeois social fascists, of that we'd no doubt!

"And then the times changed, we campaigned for the Popular Front.
The old line might never have been.
But we led the workers in combatting Fascism,
Mosely in London and Franco in Spain.

"We believed we were History's chosen,
And Soviet Russia, our future, our heart and our soul.
And the Five Year Plan was a vision of plenty
To us who'd spent half of our lives on the dole.

"We knew of the trials and purges of course,
And were shocked when we heard those old comrades confess
But yes, we defended the first Workers' State
In the face of the slander and lies of the Press!

"And you, who have nothing at all to believe in;
To you, whose motto is, 'money comes first';
Who are you, to tell us that our lives have been wasted?
That all that we've fought for has turned into dust?

"You may think we were duped, well we paid for our dreams;
Broken lives, broken marriages, jobs lost and jail.
Some lost heart in the Left, some betrayed us for medals -
There are always some turncoats whose souls are for sale.

"But the best of us never surrendered our vision.
And we kept the faith through the bleakest defeat.
D'you think that was easy, surrounded by hatred?
The sneer of indifference, the hurt of deceit?

"And our lives were made rich by the cause that we fought for,
The friendship, the fellowship, sharing one pain.
To transform society, end exploitation,
And that day will come yet - but not in my time."

Again he was silent, and what could we tell him?
That the world now was different, that he'd had his day?
That an old man's dreams were not our concern?
But still, there was something he wanted to say.

"Now, when I look back, I see what we fought against.
Homelessness, hunger, injustice and war.
But what did fight for? What dream did we strive for?
I used to know once - now I'm o longer sure.

"But you, who have nothing at all to believe in;
To you, whose motto is, 'money comes first';
Who are you, to tell us that our lives have been wasted?
That all that we've fought for has turned into dust?"

He was one of those lonely old men
Who live in the past, telling stories you don't want to know.
About how it was then, the hunger, the hardship,
The hopes and the struggles of so long ago...

- Leon Rosselson, "Song of the Old Communist"


From: Deepest Darkest Saskabush | Registered: Jan 2004  |  IP: Logged
Mick
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2753

posted 02 February 2004 03:46 PM      Profile for Mick        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
some of my favorites:

The Day The Nazi Died
Chumbawamba

we're taught that after the war
the nazis vanished without a trace
but batallions of fascists
still dream of a master race
the history books they tell of their defeat in 45
why did they all come out of the woodwork
on the day the nazi died

they say the prisoner of spandau
was a symbol of defeat
whilst hess remained imprisoned
then the fascists they were beat
so the promise of an aryan world would never materialize
so why did they all come out of the woodwork
on the day the nazi died

the world is ridden by maggots
the maggots are getting fat
they're making a tasty meal
of all the bosses and bureacrats
they're taking over the board rooms
and they're fat and full of pride
and they all came out of the woodwork
on the day the nazi died

so if you meet with these historians
i'll tell you what to say
tell them that the nazis never really went away
they're out there burning houses down
and they're peddling racist lies
and we'll never rest again
until every nazi dies


The preacher and the slave
Joe Hill

Long haired preachers come out ev'ry night,
Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right;
But when asked, how 'bout something to eat, (Let us eat)
They will answer with voices so sweet; (Oh so sweet)

Chorus:
You will eat, (You will eat)
Bye and bye, (Bye and bye) in that glorious land above the sky;
(way up high)
work and pray, (work and pray) live on hay, (Live on hay)
you'll get pie in the sky when you die. (That's a lie)

And the starvation army they play,
And they sing and they clap and they pray.
Till they get all your coin on the drum,
Then they'll tell you when you're on the bum:

-Chorus-

Holy Rollers and Jumpers come out,
And they holler, they jump and they shout
"Give your money to Jesus," they say,
"He will cure all diseases today."

-Chorus-

If you fight hard for children and wife-
Try to get something good in this life-
You're a sinner and bad man, they tell,
When you die you will sure go to hell.

-Chorus-

Workingmen of all countries unite,
Side by side we for freedom will fight!
When the world and its wealth we have gained,
To the grafters we'll sing this refrain:

-Final Chorus-

You will eat, bye and bye,
When you've learned how to cook and to fry.
Chop some wood, 'twill do you good,
And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye.

Note: The fourth verse is often removed or changed so it's not as sexist, but this is the original version


Hanging On The Old Barbed Wire
World war one soldiers' song

If you want to find the general
I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the general
I know where he is
He's pinning another medal on his chest
I saw him, I saw him
Pinning another medal on his chest
Pinning another medal on his chest
If you want to find the colonel
I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the colonel
I know where he is
He's sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut
I saw him, I saw him
Sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut
If you want to find the seargent
I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the seargent
I know where he is
He's drinking all the company rum
I saw him, I saw him
Drinking all the company rum
Drinking all the company rum
If you want to find the private
I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the private
I know where he is
He's hanging on the old barbed wire
I saw him, I saw him
Hanging on the old barbed wire
Hanging on the old barbed wire

Bella Ciao
English versions

Toen ik vanmorgen vredig ontwaakte
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Toen ik vanmorgen vredig ontwaakte
trof ik de verdrukker in mijn stad

Oh partizaan, 'k wil met je mee
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Oh partizaan, 'k wil met je mee
want de dood zit in mijn hart

En als ik sterf, als partizaan
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
En als ik sterf, als partizaan
laat mij dan rusten in mijn graf

En laat mij rusten, in gindse velden
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
En laat mij rusten, in gindse velden
in de schaduw van mijn bloem

En alle mensen, die daar voorbij gaan
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
En alle mensen, die daar voorbij gaan
zullen wijzen naar die bloem

Dat is de bloem der partizanen
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
Dat is de bloem der partizanen
voor de vrijheid zijn zij dood

[ 02 February 2004: Message edited by: Mick ]


From: Parkdale! | Registered: Jun 2002  |  IP: Logged
Mick
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 2753

posted 03 February 2004 06:01 AM      Profile for Mick        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Okay now a fave punk song that I heard again just now by playing an un-labeled cassette tape.

Mother Superior
Good Riddance

How ready are you
To die for an ideal
What's the connection,
Between a lie and what is real
Mother Superior

I've got an angel on my back
I'm one of the righteous
And I'm never going back
No, no, no
I'm never going back

Who's that shining forth - right man
About to die behind me
He's waiting for the portress to
Send me head over heels
Who's that black-heart four-star
General walking up the hill
To ask the liberals nicely
To help, finance his private war

And if I didn't trust that man
When he puts the rifle in your hand
Sings you songs of pageantry and grace
And how much you want to bet
On the other side
There's a man with twice your pride
And they put you feet first in an
Unmarked grave

There was a time in our history
When we justified by saying
Our destinies manifest
Now imperialism is the mantra
Of the west

See that trigger happy
College boys, love a chance
To try out their new toys
Then they wash the city streets
Clean, with the blood of infidels

As the fabric of democracy
Left tattered in the dust
We could put, another greedy man
Into the dictatorial
Puppet-show, now
Tell me, who do you trust
Who do you trust

And an abominable hemisphere
Would perpetuate a heart - whole
Atmosphere
Call it a threat
To national security
Call it just a poor - sick face
One more place,
To export cheap labor

Hail the monarchy
Hail the oligarchy
A potential for anarchy
And we pat ourselves
Firmly on the back


From: Parkdale! | Registered: Jun 2002  |  IP: Logged
NDP Newbie
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 5089

posted 26 April 2004 10:44 AM      Profile for NDP Newbie     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Speaking of Chumbawamba, here's their take on some English protest songs:

http://www.geocities.com/cwlyrics/cwlers2.html

And since I'm the one posting this, how about an Anti-CCP anthem c/o Leeds' most famous anarchists:

Tiananmen Square

Heads bowed, eyes down, here comes the enemy
To hail the people's victory! Which people? What victory?
It's the People's Army that murdered the people
They've come to glue the shattered, battered statues in the square
Heads bowed, eyes down, here comes the enemy
With a haircut and a trigger-finger, that could be me!
Tanks tearing a hole in the silence
I've got armor-piercing rockets in my pocket--watch out!
(Chatter)
You must've seen it, the boy in the white shirt
You want a fight? Yeah, you and whose army?
The people is bigger than the People's Army
My dad is bigger than your dad, and one day, one day
Raw and angry in front of the enemy
So it's turn back or kill. Boy versus tank
You want a fight? Yeah, you and whose army?
Here soldier, have a watermelon--this'll cool you down!


From: Cornwall, ON | Registered: Mar 2004  |  IP: Logged
candle
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3103

posted 27 April 2004 01:17 AM      Profile for candle     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Let Robeson Sing by the Manic Street Preachers

Lyrics by Nicky Wire, music by James Dean Bradfield and Sean Moore
(Bold portion is spoken word recording of Paul Robeson]

Where are you now?
Broken up or still around?
The CIA says you're a guilty man
Will we see the likes of you again?

Can anyone make a difference anymore?
Can anyone write a protest song?
Pinky lefty revolutionary
Burnt at the stake for

A voice so pure - a vision so clear
I've got to learn to live like you
Learn to sing like you

Went to Cuba to meet Castro
Never got past sleepy Moscow
A giant man with a heavenly voice
MK Ultra turned you paranoid

No passport 'til 1958
McCarthy poisoned through with hate
Liberty lost still buried today
Beneath the lie of the USA

Say what you want
Say what you want

A voice so pure - a vision so clear
I've got to learn to live like you
Learn to sing like you

Now let the Freedom Train come zooming down the track
Gleaming in the sunlight for white and black
Not stopping at no stations marked colored nor white
Just stopping in the fields in the broad daylight

Stopping in the country in the wide open air
Where there never was a Jim Crow sign nowhere
And no lilly-white committees, politicians of note
Nor poll tax layer through which colored can't vote

And there won't be no kinda color lines
The Freedom Train will be yours
And mine

A voice so pure - a vision so clear
I've got to learn to live like you
Learn to sing like you

Sing it loud, sing it proud
I will be here, I will be found
Sing it loud, sing it proud
I will be here, I will be found

[ 27 April 2004: Message edited by: candle ]


From: Ontario | Registered: Sep 2002  |  IP: Logged
candle
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 3103

posted 27 April 2004 01:22 AM      Profile for candle     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Rancid is another good source. Here are two examples:

RANCID - Harry Bridges Lyrics
Bloody thursday was july 6th
the pigs killed 3 workers harry bridges grabbed the mic
The city shut down july 6th the workers outrage it was a general
strike
The media clamed that the commies were taking over
and some believed it was true
3 uncompremising strikes was paved the way
Minn Sf and Toledo

Over and over again the doors are locked
and the windows are broken

Eddie worked for general motors and he swore
that he'd never lose his job again
A union man who owned his own home
in beautiful flint michigan

Eddie lost his job and eddie lost his wife
So eddie lost his self esteme
The last time i saw eddie
he was living in the trailer park again

Over and over again the doors are locked
and the windows are broken

I believe eddie for gave too much too soon
I got a letter from eddie and it was bad news

Over and over again the doors are locked
and the windows are broken


RANCID - Rwanda Lyrics
Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright
Rwanda over planned genocide
Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion
Tune in the transistor
And listen to the news
Cause once a week it hits ya
Heart broken and blue
It's the voice over Africa
so stop peregrination
So listen very closely to half a million dead souls
Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright
Rwanda over planned genocide
Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion
It's complicated when facts come slow
Mass destruction mass confusion
Whats the difference to the orphan
Orphans of the dead
When no more machine guns strike and there's silence instead

Rwanda yeah your moon shines bright
Rwanda over planned genocide
Rwanda, won't you be strong like a lion


From: Ontario | Registered: Sep 2002  |  IP: Logged
Michelle
Moderator
Babbler # 560

posted 17 September 2005 01:30 PM      Profile for Michelle   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I posted this in a Katrina thread, but on second thought, I think it is even better here, posted as a protest song, even if it's not specifically about labour. There certainly is a class element to what happened in New Orleans.

George Bush Don't Like Black People

An awesome riff on Kanye West's live, on air "George Bush doesn't care about black people." It will open your media player.

[ 17 September 2005: Message edited by: Michelle ]


From: I've got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell. | Registered: May 2001  |  IP: Logged
DandyLion
recent-rabble-rouser
Babbler # 10150

posted 19 September 2005 03:12 PM      Profile for DandyLion     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Lot's of good suggestions here but some of you might like to check out Tom Robinson, especially "Better Decide Which Side You're On" and "Glad to be Gay". The latter was written in the late 70s so some references are dated. It comes across way better on the record than in print.

Better Decide Which Side You're On

All you downtrodden people
Always bear the brunt
Just sit back on you fat backsides
Till you have to face the Front
Waiting till the bullyboys get you
Don't make no kind of sense
And pretty soon there'll be no room
For sitting on the fence

You better decide which side you're on
This ship goes down before too long
If Left is right then Right is Wrong
You better decide which side you're on

Too bad for the gay revolution
This is as far as we get
And if you think you're free, well listen to me
You ain't seen nothing yet
We're all gonna feel the backlash
Of puritannical power
And kicking us down into the ground
Gonna be their Finest Hour

You better decide which side you're on
The chips go down before too long
If Left is right then Right is Wrong
You better decide which side you're on


Too late, trendy thinkers
Your time is running out
Ain't no time to wonder why
Ain't no time for doubt
Joseph, Reed and Whitehouse
Are out to get your guts
You better decide which side you're on
Forget those ifs and buts


Glad To Be Gay

The British Police are the best in the world
I don't believe one of these stories I've heard
'Bout them raiding our pubs for no reason at all
Lining the customers up by the wall
Picking out people and knocking them down
Resisting arrest as they're kicked on the ground
Searching their houses and calling them queer
I don't believe that sort of thing happens here

Sing if you're glad to be gay
Sing if you're happy that way

Pictures of naked young women are fun
In Titbits and Playboy, page three of The Sun
There's no nudes in Gay News our last magazine
But they still find excuses to call it obscene
Read how disgusting we are in the press
The News of The World and the Sunday Express
Molesters of children, corruptors of youth
It's there in the paper, it must be the truth

Sing if you're glad to be gay
Sing if you're happy that way

Don't try to kid us that if you're discreet
You're perfectly safe as you walk down the street
You don't have to mince or make bitchy remarks
To get beaten unconscious and left in the dark
I had a friend who was gentle and short
Got lonely one evening and went for a walk
Queerbashers caught him and kicked in his teeth
He was only hospitalised for a week

Sing if you're glad to be gay
Sing if you're happy that way

So sit back and watch as they close all our clubs
Arrest us for meeting and raid all our pubs
Make sure your boyfriend's at least 21
So only your friends and your brothers get done
Lie to your workmates, lie to your folks
Put down the queens and tell anti-queer jokes
Gay Lib's ridiculous, join their laughter
'The buggers are legal now, what more are they after?'

Sing if you're glad to be gay
Sing if you're happy that way


From: Toronto | Registered: Aug 2005  |  IP: Logged
blacklisted
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 8572

posted 19 September 2005 05:58 PM      Profile for blacklisted     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
one of the best casnadian singers i've never heard of, caught the act in Nelson. killer voice

SUCKER PUNCHED- Ember swift
we have tried to muzzle retribution with some cash over here
some land over here, hoping it will see us through
so that this generation, our generation, can keep on doing
what white people have a tendency to do
but we're not just going to shed our skin, begin again, begin anew
no, we haven't outgrown our history yet
here we are, still a perfect fit in that blue pin-stripped suit
with blood and oil stains all over it

what a rare day on the school yard when the bully gets sucker punched
and what a blow to the ego it must have been
when we could not even see who it was
now all the kids who have been picked on and living in fear
suddenly they find themselves grinning sea to sea and ear to ear

the land of the brave and the home of the free, we're still robbing the ghetto
and we're branding it and selling it to the suburbs for $85.93
this is before taxes, of course, which have just been raised because
"we need to help fight terrorism" and we're trying to "preserve"
what's being called "democracy"
well forgive me for being so cynical, but I don't get it
I can't seem to see how it is that a new SUV and Tommy Hilfiger
are gonna keep this first-world nation fancy free?
how is all that spending going to keep us fancy free?

when there are still so many black people who are pissed at us
and there's still so many Latino/a people, and Asian people
and Native American people who have no reason at all to trust us
and the Middle East is fed right up and Cuba just thinks we're all nuts
and here I am in my white skin, privileged, and bouncing from
hemisphere to hemisphere thinking "where would I like to be today?
where can I find peace and safety? do they even exist anymore?"
if they do, I think every human spirit deserves to live under those conditions
but I'm afraid that the west has an agenda to start world war three

what a rare day on the school yard when the bully gets sucker punched...

Australia is tying the U.S. troops' laces and Canada Ð we have a long history
of adding our 18 year old faces and Britain Ð they're begging to be the best man while the U.S. continues down that aisle of destruction
and if the government doesn't do it first
I personally think that Momma Earth will
she's going to evict us all because we haven't paid the rent
and we've trashed this place nearly beyond repair
and for once in my little life, I have to admit I'm scared

every time I look at the newspaper and every time I turn on the TV
I am reminded that they think we're sheep
they're trying to selling us fear and they're disguising it so cleverly as patriotism
they're hoping we're going to work ourselves into a little tizzy
and in our tizzy, we're not going to notice that we've been
systematically stripped of every single one of our civil liberties

well, I'm insulted that they think you and I are this stupid
and I'm insulted that they're trying to teach us how to hate
but maybe in one little way it is working because I've worked myself
into quite a state and I am pissed off right through to my core
I'm pissed off with millions and millions and millions more
And we're saying:

in the name of democracy, in the name of freedom, in the name of liberation
you might declare it a war, but it's not in my name
not now, not ever
it's not in my name
not like this
never

what a rare day on the school yard when the bully gets sucker punched...


From: nelson,bc | Registered: Mar 2005  |  IP: Logged
Alan Avans
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 7663

posted 20 September 2005 04:14 PM      Profile for Alan Avans   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
"Take this job and shove it....." Johnny Paycheck
From: Christian Democratic Union of USAmerica | Registered: Dec 2004  |  IP: Logged
FabFabian
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 7496

posted 22 September 2005 01:21 AM      Profile for FabFabian        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
The Style Council's "Walls Come Tumbling Down." I can't be arsed to put up the lyrics, but any song that starts with "You don't have to take this crap" is good to me.
From: Toronto | Registered: Nov 2004  |  IP: Logged
Ken Burch
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 8346

posted 20 October 2005 04:21 AM      Profile for Ken Burch     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Originally posted by meades:
just a note: "The Red Flag" is sung to the tune of "O Christmas Tree". Yes, I know ...

Actually, until about 1910 or so, it was sung to the Robert Burns tune "The White Cockade" and Billy Bragg does a great duet of this version with Dick Gaughan on his "The Internationale" CD.


From: A seedy truckstop on the Information Superhighway | Registered: Feb 2005  |  IP: Logged
Ken Burch
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 8346

posted 20 October 2005 04:37 AM      Profile for Ken Burch     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Originally posted by redshift:
skdadl , possibly Gene maclellan? used to do anne murray, can't find much on the web. had a great voice but looked like a three day dead junkie.

Sadly, I saw somewhere on the web that Gene Maclellan, best known for writing "Put Your Hand In The Hand" committed suicide sometime in the 1990's.


From: A seedy truckstop on the Information Superhighway | Registered: Feb 2005  |  IP: Logged
Ken Burch
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 8346

posted 20 October 2005 04:41 AM      Profile for Ken Burch     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here's a Kirsty MaCcoll lyric that fits in this category:

WALKING DOWN MADISON

Walking down Madison - I swear I never had a gun
No I never shot no-one - I was only having fun
Walking down Madison - swear I never had a gun
I was philosophizing some
Checking out the bums

See you give 'em your nickels, your pennies and dimes
But you can't give 'em hope in these mercenary times, oh no
And you feel real guilty about the coat on your back
And the sandwich you had, oh no

From an uptown apartment to a knife on the A train
It's not that far
From the sharks in the penthouse to the rats in the basement
It's not that far
To the bag lady frozen asleep in the park
Oh no it's not that far
Would you like to see some more?
I can show you if you'd like to

Walking down Madison - I swear I never had a gun
No I never shot no-one - wouldn't do it just for fun
Walking down Madison - trying to keep my head screwed on
I was philosophizing some
Checking out the nuns

When you get to the corner don't look at those freaks
Keep your head down low and stay quick on your feet, oh yeah
The beaming boy from Harlem with the airforce coat
The ones who died
The ones who tried
The ones that sit and gloat

From an uptown apartment to a knife on the A train
It's not that far
From the sharks in the penthouse to the rats in the basement
It's not that far
To the bag lady frozen asleep on the church steps
It's not that far
Would you like to see some more?
I can show you if you'd like to

Within every city and town there's a Madison
Frozen lives for whom nothing's happening
Hungry children is a mother's dilemma
Dumpster diving to feed her baby Emma
So you walk on by like it doesn't affect you
The held out hand that you pay no respect to
Nickels and dimes won't even buy your guilt
Another wino dead burnt to death in his quilt
It's a cardboard city, newspaper metrapolis
The system can't cope or keep on top of this
The outhorities come as you're not for display
Do they solve the problem no they move him away
They're in a vicious circle of no fixed abode
The social won't pay 'em the money they're owed
When you got no money you can't pay rent
Hypothermia kills 'cos the system is bentFrom an uptown apartment to a knife an the A train
It's not that far
From the sharks in the penthouse to the rats in the basement
It's not that far
To the bag lady frozen asleep in the park
It's not that far
Would you like to see some more?
I can show you if you'd like to

From an uptown apartment to a knife an the A train
It's not that far
From the sharks in the penthouse to the rats in the basement
It's not that far
To the bag lady frozen asleep on the church steps
It's not that far
Would you like to see some more?
I can show you if you'd like to

In the subway sits a vacous man
His grip on life is a bent tin can
It's a holy shrine where he burns his light
It makes things easy and removes his plight
For an hour or two but he can't escape
They're all penned in with government tape
There are good samaritans who bring them soup
The sally army with their bibles and boots
You can see yourselves it's not too far
One short trip you don't know who they are
Till the night comes then it all comes back
Like the smell of patchoulli and the armies of rats
It's a shame to be human it's a human shame
It seems we've forgotten we're one and the same
One and the same
One and the same
No it's not too far
No it's not too far
We're one and the same


From: A seedy truckstop on the Information Superhighway | Registered: Feb 2005  |  IP: Logged

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