The Pinko Songbook

For those who don't go completely glassy-eyed when the 'P' word is mentioned.

I've added some newer Pinko Songs. The additions are THE SWORN-AT POLICEMEN, THE DEFICIT DECEIVERS and a Blues Song about race prejudice, BLUE TREEN BLUES. The last replaces Sandcastles, which has been moved in an amended version to the new SONG LYRICS page. A sung version is also on that part of the site, courtesy of Jim Bartlett.

I've kept the twenty-first century version of the socialist anthem. I have called this Y BLODYN PINC. The Welsh is a literal, or near-literal, translation of the symbol of NEW Labour. If you think it's something for which I shouldn't have written new words, well, tough. But Jim Connell himself wrote new words to an old German Christmas Carol, Tannenbaum. This means 'The Fir Tree'. By clicking here you can hear a fine rendition of The Red Flag, or if you want to learn more, I'd recommend that you visit the Helena Sheehan's excellent page on an Irish site. My 21st century version appeared in an issue of the Red Poets magazine and was 'sung' by myself and Chris Williams at the Dylan Thomas Centre in Swansea.

The other entries are CONDOLEEZZA (do you still remember who she was?) and TWENTY-NINE IS HERE AGAIN, a celebration of our joyful global economic situation. There is a song version of CONDOLEEZZA you can hear. This is sung by BRENDAN BARKER. There is also a song version of THE SWORN-AT POLICEMEN sung by CHRIS WILLIAMS.



Previously in Red Poets


                                   Our symbol now is palest pink,
                                   This song should make you stop and think.
                                   Jim Connell's one is growing old,
                                   It's time to sing of purest gold.

                                   So work like slaves and don't ask why, [Chorus]
                                   The money god we'll deify.
                                   Though theorists preach and lefties jeer,
                                   We'll keep the pink rose growing here.

                                   Look round, the Tory loves to gaze,
                                   The stock exchange now sings its praise,
                                   In money's vaults its hymns are sung;
                                   Accountants swell the surging throng.

                                   It waves above from some great height,
                                   You know this perfumed flower's right
                                   To slay the movement's sacred cow,
                                   We're sure to change their colours now.

                                   So let's forget the triumphs past,
                                   And bury brotherhood at last
                                   The coins are bright, the symbol plain,
                                   For money's right and money's gain.

                                   Now let us join the weak and base,
                                   And merge with them in their good race
                                   To become the rich man's clown,
                                   One day we think we'll wear his crown.

                                   So kneel we down and swear we all,
                                   The Stock Exchange shall hear our call;
                                   And though I know you think we're dim,
                                   This song shall be our parting hymn.


Hear a sung version by BRENDAN BARKER
If you need a reminder who Condoleezza was, see the 'W' is for Dubya page.

                                   In the White House, not a shite house,
                                   now advising mighty fine,
                                   dwells a lady somewhat shady,
                                   keeping war-folks on the line.

                                   Condoleezza! Condoleezza! [CHORUS]
                                   Where'd you get that funny name?
                                   It don't sound so Alabammie.
                                   You've really put them all to shame.

                                   Bright she is and some say lairy
                                   and at Stanford she did shine:
                                   now she foxes paradoxes
                                   at the White House all the time.

                                   Makes she dealings for the prater
                                   who to facts she can't confine.
                                   It's too late for an educator
                                   'cos the truth they'll undermine.

                                   She and Bushie are so pushy
                                   spelling dee-fence with an 'O'.
                                   Send in Cruisies: Whoosshie! Whoosshie!
                                   Then we'll watch the GIs go.

                                   How they've trussed her; how they've bust her;
                                   how they've used her mighty fine.
                                   And when the juster all distrust her
                                   they'll soon forget her in decline.

Hear CONDOLEEZZA sung by Brendan Barker.
Brendan would like to acknowledge FREESOUND for the counting sample.


A Song to the Old Music

                                   Our bonuses come in six figures, or seven
                                   so what's all this guff about going to heaven?
                                   We'd sooner have ten million... or eleven.
                                   YOU are the worthless unbelievers;
                                   WE are the deficit deceivers.

                                   It's sad, the death of Lady Thatcher,
                                   she wouldn't be a bonus snatcher.
                                   There'll never be a man to match her.
                                   We WERE the Nation's grievers;
                                   we ARE the deficit deceivers.

                                   It's time to restore our private wealth
                                   so never mind the public health.
                                   We'll do it openly or by stealth.
                                   We're not at all your common thievers:
                                   we are the deficit deceivers.

                                   We'll rise again and take it all;
                                   we heed your money's siren call
                                   so DON'T think we're heading for a fall.
                                   We have our hands on all the levers:
                                   we are the deficit deceivers.



A Blues Song about Race Prejudice

                                   I'm not the baddest Venusian you ever seen,
                                        yeah, I'm really down an' I'll tell you why.
                                   I'm lanky, I'm lipless, I'm sure as Mars lean,
                                        But green? Why, I'm blue as that ole' Earth-sky.

                                                                               Yeah, I'm so blue I'm not green:
                                                                               got the Blue Treen Blues.

                                   They say there's no palette bar in this place,
                                        but I seen them signs on the doors:
                                   'No smilies. No lippies. If you're blue it's disgrace.'
                                        Aquas like me can go sleep on the floors.

                                   That Ole' Mekon, he jus' says to annoy,
                                        from way up there on his flying dinner-plate:
                                   'Why aintcha like your green brothers, boy?
                                        You in some kinda azure state.'

                                                                               Yeah, I'm so blue I'm not green:
                                                                               got the Blue Treen Blues.

                                   Dan Dare, that pilot, he's got no future with me,
                                        an' that Digby mus' be on some kinda trip.
                                   Man, they sure funny and pink, Lordie be -
                                        but they can go back on the next rushin' wind ship.

                                                                               Yeah, I'm so blue I'm not green:
                                                                               got the Blue Treen Blues.

NOTE: Unless you're (probably) male and of a certain age, you're likely to be wondering what this is all about. The Eagle was a very popular boys' comic in the nineteen-fifties and sixties. The cover feature was Dan Dare, Pilot of the Future. Dan, with his sidekick Digby, spent most of their time making enemies of The Treens, the inhabitants of Venus. These were tall, thin, grumpy creatures. Lips were not a feature of their anatomy; the thing you'd notice first about them was that they were green. Their leader was The Mekon, a dwarvish, large-headed being who spent each day sat hovering upon his tiny private flying saucer. The Empire Windrush made the first large scale immigration voyage from Kingston, Jamaica to London in 1948.


THE SWORN-AT Policemen

To The Laughing Policeman, with apologies to Charles Penrose.


                                   Whoo-wuh-ha-ha-ha wuh-ha-ha-ha-ha.
                                   Whoo-wuh-ha-ha-ha wuh-ha-ha-ha-ha. [CHORUS]

                                   There were some sworn-at policemen;
                                   at least that's what they said;
                                   They say he used some naughty words
                                   and then he called them plebs.

                                   He's a leading politician,
                                   they're the noble boys in blue.
                                   They all met at the Plebgate
                                   and didn't know what to do.

                                   The teachers in the playground
                                   must deal with things like this,
                                   when he says he didn't and she says he did
                                   so, there's nothing new amiss.

                                   This undermines the police force
                                   and it undermines the whips.
                                   It undermines our leaders
                                   so we'd better seal our lips.

                                   [Extra Chorus]



To HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN (Italicised verses)
With apologies to those who pretend they really are.

Previously in Red Poets and SCWIJ


                                                  Gordon lets money fall from his hands;
                                                  Davey sits on his hands;
                                                  Nick Click wrings his hands.
                                                  Very handy, these politicians.

                                                  Twenty-nine is here again;
                                                        see flat caps in their march 'cross your TV screen.
                                                        Don't you know it's the way things have always been?
                                                  Twenty-nine is here again!

                                                  Bankers sit in bunkers;
                                                  financiers finance themselves;
                                                  market-men go downmarket.
                                                  I thought they were supposed to jump out of windows?

                                                  Twenty-nine is here again;
                                                        see the sharks do their dance till they're lean and mean.
                                                        Don't you know it's the way things have always been?
                                                  Twenty-nine is here again!

                                                  Stop-go; bubbles; testerone;
                                                  downturn; recession;
                                                  depression; slump.
                                                  You might think of other words.

                                                  Twenty-nine is here again;
                                                        boom or bust is the chance of the cash machine.
                                                        Don't you know it's the way things have always been?
                                                  Twenty-nine is here again!

Brendan Barker
Interactive Caption
Neath Guitar Tutor - Brendan Barker
Russmo on the Visual Arts section
The Red Flag
Song Lyrics
'W' is for Dubya
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