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Protest songs

That technique one is just a man talking ffs. :D He's a 9/11 truther loon as well. He is on that thing he did with Vincent Cassel's bother anyway.

Another no nonsense Italian one with a line about killing scabs and everything.

 


"The bourgeois historically have played a revolutionary part to end all feudal idyllic relationships. It has destroyed personal worth and, in place of freedom, is exploitation for profit alone. There is a spectre of the past in my bold assertion; we could learn much from the past."
 
RIP Hazel Dickens:

Hazel Dickens, a troubadour of hard times whose raw, heartfelt songs about coal miners and the life of the downtrodden made her a revered figure in country and bluegrass music, died April 22 at the Washington Home hospice in the District. She was 75 and had complications from pneumonia.

Ms. Dickens, who grew up in a three-room shack in West Virginia’s coal country, was a forceful voice of the working class, singing with unguarded emotion of poverty, labor and loss. She often appeared at union rallies and benefits for mineworkers, and her plaintive singing was heard in the Oscar-winning documentary “Harlan County U.S.A.” (1976) and John Sayles’s 1987 coal-mining drama “Matewan.”

 
Liberation Day in Italy today much to the annoyance of the likes of Fini.




Dunno what this is called, Slave Workers I think.



For the week that's in it.


 
Got this, and the comment and translation below, from this site. Not sure if it's a protest song exactly, but if it was banned by the Argentine junta. . .



This song, by a fat, dead Argentinian folk singer (murdered by the junta for reputedly playing this very piece at a festival when it had been proscribed)has the following lyrics, though obviously they lose a lot in translation (not mine, i hasten to add)

Zamba of my hope,
dawned like a love.
Dream, dream of the soul
that sometimes dies without blooming.

Zamba, I sing to you
Because your song spreads love.
Caress of your handkerchief
that is enveloping my heart.

Star, you who looked at me,
You who listened to my suffering.
Star, allow me to sing,
allow me to love as I know how.

Time is passing
and life will never return again.
Time is killing me
and you affections will be, will be.

Submerged in horizons,
I am (but) a cloud of dust that blows into the wind.
Zamba, do not leave me yet.
Without your song, I no longer live.

Star, you who looked at me,
you who listened to my suffering,
star, allow me to sing,
allow me to love as I know how.
 
Yesterday on 'Global Workers Memorial Day' unions remember their dead and campaign for better safety at work. Every year two million workers die in industrial accidents, some 270 million are injured.

 
Aslan AK - Class Actions - Hooligan Sound


[video]http://www.youtube.com/user/classactionsuk[/video]
 


I know little or nothing about this lot, but they seem to be a Quebecois protest-pogues crowd.

The title of that song is actually 'Je suis fils':

Je suis fils d'un marin, qui traversa la mer.
je suis fils de soldat, qui détestait la guerre.
je suis fils de forcat, criminel évadé.
fils d'une fille du roi trop pauvre a marier.

fils de coureur des bois et de contrebendier.
enfant des septs nations et fils d'aventurier.
Métis et sang-melé, bien qu'on me lait caché.
C'étais sujet de honte, j'en ferai ma fierté.

Je suis fils d'irlandais, poussé par la famine.
Je suis fils d'écossais, plus crever an usine.
Des l'age de huit ans, 16 heures sur les machine.
Mais dieu sait que jamais je n'est courber l'échine.
Non, je suis rester drois, meme devant mes patron.
meme le jour ou ils on passé la conscription.
Ch'ui fils de paysan et fils de l'ouvrier.
Je ne prend pas les armes contre d'autres affamé.

Ce n'étais pas ma guerre, alors j'ai désserter.
J'ai fuis dans les foret, et je mi suis caché.
Refusans de servire de chair a cannon.
Refusans de mourir au loins pour la nation.
Une nations qui ne fut jamais vraiment la mienne.
Une allaince forcé, de misere et de peine.
C'est le genocide des premieres nations.
C'est l'heure de lesclavage et des déportation.


Je n'aimes pas le lis, et je n'aime pas la croix.
Une est pour les curé et l'autre est pour les roi.
Si j'aime mon pays, la terre qui m'a vue naitre.
Je ne veux pas de dieu, je ne veux pas de maitre(2x)

English translation (made by myself so please, be mindfull)

I am the son a a sailor who crossed the sea.
I am the son of a soldier who hated war.
I am the son of a forcefull, a fleeing criminal.
Son of a "king's daughter" too poor to be married.

Son of woodrunners and bootleggers.
Children of the seven nations and son of adventurers.
"Métis" and mixed-blood though that was hidden from me.
It was ounce a shame, i shall make it my pride.

I am the son of Irishman who fled the great famine.
I am son of Scottsman who wouldn't die in a factory.
Since the age of eight, spending 16 hours on the machines.
But god knows that i never backed down.
No,i stood tall, even in front of my bosses.
Even on the day they started conscripting.
I am the son of peasents and factory workers.
I do not take arms against others starving.

It wasn't my war, so i desserted.
Fled into the woods and hid there.
Didn't want to be used as cannon fodder.
Didn't want to die for the nation.
A nation that was never really mine.
A forced alliance of misery and sorrow.
It's the genocide of the first nations.
It's time for slavery and deportation.

I do not like the lis, i do not like the cross.
One is for priest and the other is for kings.
If i love my contry, the earth that saw me born.
I do not want a god, i do not want a master. (2x)

Lyrics are from here, which also says:

Explenations:

Métis: Métis is a french word that designs anyone who has amerindian blood. The original term was used by the french colonists of new-france to designe French-canadians of mixed blood.

King's daughter: former orphans or prostitutes that were sent to new-france to be married by the mercenaries hired also by the king of france in the hopes of improving colonisation. upon marrige, they were paid a small amount of gold.
 
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