Entries Tagged 'Lyrics' ↓

My PM’s a Womble

Melody

[chorus:] Oh, my PM’s a Womble, with an orange sash and a flute,
And when I’ve seen her lately, she’s sticking in the boot.
You’d think that she’d be finished, with no majority,
But such things are mere trifles in bourgeois democracy.

 

Throughout the campaign season she was nowhere to be seen,
You’d think Theresa’s on the run from the good old RUC.
the plebs can be so nasty, they won’t leave her alone,
but she’s so strong and so stable that she just campaigned by phone.

 

[chorus]

 

The press were in agreement that Corbyn was an ass,
Who simply couldn’t comprehend the British working class,
Everybody knows the workers are turned on by punishment
So behold the shock and horror when they hung the Parliament.

 

[chorus]

 

Theresa looked well finished as everyone would note;
Her own party debated: In the back or in the throat?
But our Ms May, she knew how to recover from the flop,
And so she found salvation in the Shankill butcher shop.

 

[chorus]

 

But over in old England the folks were really cruel,
It surely is a thankless job maintaining British rule.
‘Don’t call us Irish ISIS, we ought to break your legs;
There’s nothing wrong with ISIS, but how dare you call us Taigs?’

 

[chorus]

 

Well, Downing Street’s been done up now, the kerbstones have fresh paint
And everywhere the murals read ‘Theresa we’ll maintain’
There’ll be no more line dancing, and dinosaurs are banned.
Each day will bring excitement from Theresa’s red right hand.

 

[chorus]

 

The DUP in government is sure to be a blast,
But still you have to wonder: Can this marriage really last?
True, an hour with the Orangemen feels like an eternity,
But premature explosions are their speciality.

 

[chorus]

 

 

In the Street Where We Live

Melody

You have often raided my street before
That’s ‘cause no one ever swept you off your feet before.
Now if you come by, sparks will start to fly.
You’d better not raid the street where we live.

 

It’s a no-go here, in this part of town.
If you so much as look at us, we’re gonna shut you down.
From now on, no more will you kick down our doors.
You’d better not raid the street where we live.

 

And oh, that cowering feeling,
when crowds come running your way.
Your heart, oh how it goes reeling,
From those three words ‘Motherfucker, not today!’

 

You think ‘Why the fuck did I sign up for this?’
As your van goes up in flames when you stop for a piss.
Anywhere you go, your tyres just might blow.
You won’t get near any street where we live.

 

For too long we have endured your attacks,
But from now on, you will have to learn to watch your back.
For if you spread fear amongst those living here,
You’ll find it soon in the street where you live.

 

And oh, that cowering feeling,
When you hear your engine stall!
Those thuds tell you through the ceiling,
That you should have stayed at Walmart after all.

 

You thought you were backed by your man Donald Trump,
But then why does it smell as if you just dropped a lump?
You know you’re out here, and Donald’s nowhere near.
You’re all alone in the street where we live.

 

You have often raided my street before
That’s ‘cause no one ever swept you off your feet before.
Now if you come by, sparks will start to fly.
You’d better not raid the street where we live.

*

Marching Season

(Melody)

Inauguration Day draws near, and the fascists think it’s clear:
Get out your guns, at last our day is here!
Now it’s time to fill the streets, with the sounds of marching feet,
And to make a lot of people live in fear.
‘Sieg Heil’ they’ll yell as they march, looking for something to torch.
‘Remember 1933’ they yell.
But now it’s 2017,
And how that ends, we all have seen.
Which is why it’s time to send them back to hell.

 

CHORUS: Oh, you won’t be marching in Montana with your rifles and your flags
For it’s time you learnt: The people won’t lie down.
And we will not endure your taunts,
Or the swastikas you flaunt.
Remember: If you play with fire, you will burn.
So just stop and count the cost, because the battle will be lost.
Soon you’ll envy all the others, safe at home.

So, when Adolf married Eve, tell me: What lesson did he leave?
How to celebrate a fascist honeymoon:
First you go and you get hitched, then you find yourself a ditch,
And you consummate your marriage with a BOOM.
He’s your leader, take his lead,
His example you should heed.
If you don’t, it will hurt more than if you do.
If you want to go unharmed,
Hit the snooze on your alarm
Just say ‘Fuck it’ and your kneecaps will thank you.

(CHORUS)

Here’s to Marek Edelman, and the Bielski Partisans,
To Durruti and the Panthers and the MIR.
They all fought you way back when, and now we’ll fight you once again,
For your bonehead bullshit isn’t wanted here.
Here’s a piece of free advice:
Don’t expect us to be nice,
And do watch out for surprises from above.
All the people in the know,
Say ‘Bring aloe if you go’:
For every Ribbentrop must meet his molotov.

(CHORUS)

At night when I’m not sleeping

(Melody)

At night when I’m not sleeping,
I see those armoured cars,
The air unfit for breathing –
From my mind it’s never far.
The city in full blackout
Save for the flaming streets
Prepared by brave young compas
Who defended our retreat.
Along the Alameda
We marched, and we weren’t few
Till we reached La Moneda
In the president’s full view.
The voices full suddenly silent,
That had just been raised in song
As the cops began the riot
They’d been preparing all along.
Some things are soon forgiven,
Some sights soon fade to black.
But I’m forever living
The moment they attacked.

 

Armoured cars and water cannons
My heart began to race
Stifling the urge to panic
As poison mist inflamed my face

 

Though by sunup the bastards
Had left no trace of their shame,
To my eyes, the Alameda
Will never look the same.

 

They took my fear and turned it
Into incandescent rage
That in my eyes is burning
Like a thousand gas grenades.
And when I see a cop now,
I clearly see the day
When our lines are advancing
And they all run away.

 

Whenever that proud day might be,
And let it not be far
Perhaps I’ll close my eyes
And see no fucking armoured cars.