17.03.2017 test 2

17.03.2017 test 1

10.11.2013 Последняя запись британских провокаторов Chumbawamba «In Memoriam: Margaret Thatcher»

12.02.2013 BIG SOCIETY! (“Большой свет”) Перевод двух песен из последнего альбома Chumbawamba

24.09.2011 Что есть панк? (если этот вопрос уместен)

09.06.2011 Делать панк самому или со своими друзьями

27.05.2011 Протест средствами искусства

24.05.2011 На «Максидроме» поубавилось русских

19.05.2011 Первое знакомство с веселыми анархистами.

11.05.2011 Из истории Chumbawamba

«D»

D

Dance, Idiot, Dance

Here comes Nicholas, fiddle in hand,
into a world that he can’t understand.
You can’t keep pace with the master
race, his feet they’re going all over
the place — he can’t see his moves cos
there’s egg on his face. Dance, idiot,
dance! His body’s as stiff as
a cold lasagne, ‘cos all he knows is
‘Rule Brittannia’. His rhythm’s so bad
that we’re supposin’ — maybe it’s cos
his legs are frozen? Shouldn’t be
wearing lederhosen! Dance, idiot,
dance! Messianical look in his eye,
arms akimbo, slapping his thigh. He
wrinkles his snout at a likely wench
(we’ve censored her answer and
pardoned her French) — it’s hard for
your average Ubermensch. Dance,
idiot, dance! Poor old Nicholas got
up today, to Cecil Sharpe House he
made his way. Wore his uniform just
to impress and said, «this must be the
place, I guess, for joining the EFD-SS?»
Dance, idiot, dance!

Don’t Fence Me In

Give me land, lots of land under starry skies above
Don’t fence me in
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love
Don’t fence me in

Let me be by myself in the easy breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Set me up forever but I ask you please
Don’t fence me in

Just turn me loose, let me straddle my old saddle underneath the Western sky
On my cayoose let me wander over yonder ’til I see the mountain tribes

I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences
I’ll kick at the moon until I lose my senses
I can’t look at hobbles and I can’t stand fences
Don’t fence me in
No, papa, don’t you fence me in

Excerpts from «The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner» (1962):
«Well, I think that’ll be all for now. Thank you.»
«You mean I can go now, sir?»
«Yes.»
«All right, thank you very much, sir.»

Don’t Pass Go

Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line
Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line

Well, the facts said yes
But the judge said no
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
He didn’t understand
And he told them so
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
Don’t pass go

There ain’t no justice, just us
There ain’t no justice, just us

Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line

A little self-protection
They don’t want to know
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
And he won’t say sorry
Play the old Jim Crow
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
Don’t pass go

Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line

White paranoia
It runs the show
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
You want table manners
You get rule of law
Go straight to jail and don’t pass go
Don’t pass go

Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line
Don’t pass go
Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line
Don’t pass go
Didn’t he know it was a waste of time
All stitched up by a thin blue line
Don’t pass go

Don’t Try This at Home

It’s a long walk to the gallows
It’s a small step to swing free
The crying in the tower
For my conspirators and me
Gunpowder and modem
And a dream of liberty

And then they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home
Oh yes, they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home

If you walk on the beach with King Canute
You’ll be walking back alone
Tonight he’ll dine on oysters
While we fall like green acorns
We’ll be putting down our roots
Right in the centre of the storm

Oh, but they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home
Oh yes, they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home

The cry of gulls, the hum of streets
The buzz of phones, the march of feet
We’ll meet tonight to draw up plans
Exclamations, ampersands

Somewhere across the water
They’re storming palace gates
Scared of the moth-flame metaphor
We fall asleep and wait
Singing for a future
But the chorus comes too late

Because they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home
Oh yes, they’ll tell you
Don’t try this at home

Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t (repeats to end)
Don’t try this at home (repeats to end)
Try this at home (repeats to end)

So we’re coming to the last dance
I’ve got another request
With your best foot forward
We’ll lay this ghost to rest

So we’re coming to the last dance
I’ve got another request
With your best foot forward
We’ll lay this ghost to rest

So we’re coming to the last dance
I’ve got another request

Drip, Drip, Drip

Eat, sleep and crap
For to prey on your needs
Down a dark street
In backwater Leeds
I seen yer comin’
Come in, lads!
You seen the ad?
Too bad, bad, bad

What you get
Is what you see
It’s a trickledown theory
And it’s coming to me
Life’s a whip-round
And I’ve got the whip
It’s a sinking ship
Drip, drip, drip

Drip, drip, drip goes the water

Take me in
Throw me out
Put me up
Let me down

Dark, satanic
Run-of-the-mill
Sing us a song
And I’ll send you the bill
My nicotine grip
My smoking gun
It’s how I get my fun
Better run, run, run

Your olfactory nerves
All up the spout
You can’t smell a rat
When your rose is out
Rent-to-kill
By any other name
Kiss an old flame
Shame, shame, shame

Drip, drip, drip goes the water

Take me in
Throw me out
Put me up
Let me down

Dutiful Servants & Political Masters

One, two, one, two, three, four
Things were rather different in great grandfather’s day
He just put a chain around their ankles and made them work for no pay
He took everything they owned and yet still demanded more
He did a bloody good job in taming the poor
Now I’m rather more subtle, I say, I’ll tell you what I will do
I’ll do everything I can to try and help you
And you’ll be helping me, I say, and I’ll see that you’re alright
You can have a place of your own, you can even pretend to be white
And you won’t have to worry, I’ll have a quiet word with your mates
Oh they’ll be alright, they’ll have enough on their plate
I’ll put a bit in their mouths, you just pull hard on the reins
They’ll do anything for you and they won’t complain
You’ll be so much better off, I say, you can share my paradise
Just sign my piece of paper and I’ll organize your life
And it never fails, it does the trick, it works every time
So me and my dear wife and the family’s doing fine
Great granddad got his dukedom when slavery was abolished
Dear old dad became a viscount when the Empire was finished
But times have changed for the better with freedom of choice
We’re a thousand times richer, QED His Master’s Voice

A dog stares into a gramophone trumpet, waits for its call to action
Mute and obedient, standing to attention
Look a little closer, the dog is a woman
She’s working under a system that she can’t understand
Trapped inside a world of labor and heat
So that she and her children will be able to eat
The trumpet is patriarchy, it’s old and fixed
Where poor men are lured by desire to be rich
Where the limited power is still given to men
Where development aid is so wastefully spent
Where western education enforces this crap
Where women work in the open, yet live in a trap
There’s one solution, and this is it
The dog leaps on the gramophone and has a shit

A B C D H

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