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

«W»

W

Waiting, Shouting

Just take a ticket
It takes you nowhere
They saw us coming
It’s them and us here
Just keep your voice down
And light another
I am a patient girl
I wait, I wait, I wait
It’s not your money
Don’t call me stupid
Not big, not clever
Mean can mean awkward
It’s Wigan Pier here
I’m not for jumping
See candid camera
Sees next to nothing
(Chorus)
You keep me waiting
I keep on shouting
You keep me waiting
I keep on shouting
You keep me waiting

I keep on shouting
You keep me waiting
My letterbox knows
Bangers and bad news
Good morning campers
Sees queues and queues and queues
They spell my name wrong
It’s not for art’s sake
And every truth told
Black mark on black mark
You love to chew on
This bread and butter
You crunch your numbers
And push your papers
Pile-up on pile-up
Malicious bad turns
I’ll light another
Slow fuses, slow burn
(Repeat chorus)

Wagner At The Opera

I’m laying on the pavement
And the last thing I recall
Picked up by the arms and legs
And taken from the hall
For squaring up to culture
In the circle and the stall

All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera
All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera

Hurt can make you act without
Apology or regret
Over half a century
But still I can’t forget
Ideology makes a mockery
Of the string quartet

All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera
All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera

When they came to take me
I was standing on a chair
I can’t keep quiet
I have something to declare
Listen to my rattle
For my rattle says «Beware»

All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera
All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera

A rattle for remembering
The rattle of the chains
A rattle for remembering
The rattle of the trains
From Warsaw down the decades
To hell and home again

All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera
All because they’re playing Wagner at the opera

For everyone we lost
I swing the rattle loud and long
I swing it ’til I drown out
All the music and the songs
This tattoo will last forever
And my memory is long

Here’s to no more playing Wagner at the opera
Here’s to no more playing Wagner at the opera
Here’s to no more playing Wagner at the opera

We Don’t Go To God’s House Anymore

Driving on the bypass to Damascus
I saw a preacher trying to hitch a ride
With a pair of broken wings
And a suitcase full of sins
He gathered up his dreams and jumped inside
Pulling Malatesta from his suitcase
He lifted up his voice and began to sing
‘My hymns of desperation lead to action…
And this is where the serious fun begins.’
We don’t go to God’s house anymore
Saw the light and walked right out the door
We don’t go to God’s house
It’s more fun in the dog house
We don’t go to God’s house anymore

Well driving on, I tasted sweet salvation
As we sung away the pulpit and the past
The preacherman and me
We sang such harmonies
The highway of my life went by so fast
The preacher, he got off at the crossroads
He said, ‘This is where I end, and you begin’
He left behind the wings and the Malatesta
And the memory of the songs we both did sing
We don’t go to God’s house anymore
Saw the light and walked right out the door
We don’t go to God’s house
It’s more fun in the doghouse
We don’t go to God’s house anymore

When Fine Society Sits Down To Dine

With her friends on a road less travelled
On a journey of do’s and dares
Looking back on a fear of leaving
And forgetting how it felt to be scared
There are those paying fancy prices
To pretend they have fancy lives
But at every charity banquet
The majority stay outside

We play to a packed gallery
We smile for the CCTV
We’re making our own history
When fine society sits down to dine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine
Pissing in the wine, pissing in the wine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine

She’d love to be dancing the tango
And she traces the steps in her mind
You can tell by the snap of her fingers
That she moves to a different time
Where all the quiet submission
Is smeared in lipstick red
And every act is a crime of passion
«That’s not all she wrote,» she said
«That’s not all she wrote,» she said
«That’s not all she wrote,» she said
«That’s not all she wrote,» she said

We play to a packed gallery
We smile for the CCTV
We’re making our own history
When fine society sits down to dine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine
Pissing in the wine, pissing in the wine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine

When fine society sits down to dine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine
Pissing in the wine, pissing in the wine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine

When fine society sits down to dine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine
Pissing in the wine, pissing in the wine
Remember that someone is pissing in the wine

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