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

«S»

S


Salt Fare, North Sea

Salt fare, North Sea
Salt fare, North Sea

Salt fare, North Sea
Salt fare, North Sea

Roll on, roll off
With these words I drown
Topmast secured
Hatches battened down
Sometimes I think
It must be different on land
But from the mast I can only see tyrants
Still in command

Fish and chip supper
Battered, no bones
Hung, drawn and quartered
Drifting alone
One thousand lashes
For the Age of Reason
Salt for your wounds
When the cod’s in season

Salt fare, North Sea
Salt fare, North Sea
Salt fare, North Sea
Salt fare, North Sea

We reach the horizon
And sail over the edge
Drunk on our memories
More sober than a judge
I’m wasting time
That I can’t afford
I know I’d die on the gallows
Before I’d die of being bored

Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea
Drifting alone, drifting alone, drifting alone
Salt fare, North Sea


Singing Out The Days

Half the front’s out there, half-buried
Some of them alive
The rest of us, we freeze and pray for Spring
«Dearest Mother, fill my lungs till victory or food arrives»
What else can we do out here but sing?

Sixteen years and never been kissed
Singing out the days
Jumped the queue and the waiting list
Singing out the days
Civvy suits and new recruits, clean your rifle, polish your boots
Learn to give the correct salute
Singing out the days
Singing
Singing
Singing, singing out the days
We march until we drop
Then we go over the top
Singing, singing out the days
Lice and rats along the trench
Singing out the days
Coffin nails to cover the stench
Singing out the days
For thirty weeks we hold the line while all the toffs get reassigned
Apart from the war, we’re doing fine
Singing out the days
Singing
Singing
Singing, singing out the days
We march until we drop
Then we go over the top
Singing, singing out the days
Songs for drowning out the shells
Singing out the days
Songs to prove you’re alive and well
Singing out the days
Songs for our humanity in the face of inhumanity
To demonstrate your sanity
Singing out the days
Singing
Singing
Singing, singing out the days
We march until we drop
Then we go over the top
Singing, singing out the days


Smash Clause 29!

Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde, can you tell me where you’ve been?
I’ve been down to London town to pay a visit to the Queen.
Oscar Wilde, Oscar Wilde, can you tell me what you saw?
I saw the Queen and all her coutiers cooking up new laws;
I saw the corridors of power, with closets wall-to-wall;
And I saw the truth, the truth, behind the Emperor’s new Clause!
So you burn the books, and close your eyese to every other possibility— you got to keep your job for collaborating with the enemy. You keep throwing stones though your house is made of glass; you’ve helped to make McCarthyism popular, at last.
Blessed are the moralists, the Judges, the patriarchs. Blessed are the gutter-press, the AIDS-joke comedians. Praise to the guilt-mongerers, the fear-builders, the sin-fetishists.
Glory, glory, halleluia, His truth is marching on
One in ten driven underground, divisions getting wider. Hide your inclination behind a straight face and a Bible. Third Reich morality, and if the cap doesn’t fit, there’s a designer label for hypocrites.
Here comes the officer, knocking on your door. He’s got a care order in the pocket of his uniform. Where’s Radclyffe Hall? Now is the time to tear up clause 29!
Here comes the preacher checking your soul. Too late sir, I’d rather fall. We’ll eat your bread and we’ll drink your wine, and still tear up clause 29! Here comes the judge, hammer in hand, but we’ve all gone deaf to bigots’ commands. Our justice will cross the thin blue line and tear up clause 29!
Here comes a brick, heading your way. A concrete opinion says all I want to say. Save your own soul, mine will be fine, once we’ve shredded clause 29.


Song Of The Mother In Debt

I’m always waiting
I’m sick of waiting
For the day my luck will change
I’ve spent enough time
In queues and bread lines
In hope of better days
These thieves and scroungers
And lazy bastards
If I move they’ll steal my place
Steal like this State does

And who’s to blame us
When none of us can pay?
Will heaven’s angels
Pull out the rent books
And ask me how I’ll pay?
Behind their big desks
Misspell my kids’ names
And file my life away?

I knock on doors
See curtains move
Time wins wars each name is proof
I could tell tales
The tricks they use
Cut no ice, I take what’s due
There are worse tasks
Than door to door
I take pride in taking more
I watch my back
Dark alleyways
When doubt calls I bank my wage
No easy choice:
The devil’s boat or cruel sea?
I took the boat
When I knock knock at Peter’s gate
Will he ask if I can pay?

Test the water feel the ground
Send the tax collectors round
Fill the coffers pound by pound
A surer way to keep in line
The rabble who spend half their time
Wishing they could have what’s mine
Stamping on the people’s hands
This is where I’ll make my stand
This is how I’ll rule this land
I’ll push and push a little more
I’ll push and goad and tease the poor
A good excuse to fight my war
The war between have-nots and haves
My little game of smash and grab
Turn the screw increase the tax
Friend or foe, who goes there?
Turns his coat and takes the rear
Sings the Red Flag once a year.

I’ve got this dream home
I’m queuing up for
In freshly dug brown earth
One thing I can swear
Before I get there
I’ll kill the taxman first

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