The Pinko Songbook

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

Because the removal of the Dubya-related entries would otherwise leave a sad hole here - Dubya has now been given a page all to himself - I have replaced these with new, 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 new version appeared in an issue of the Red Poets magazine and was 'sung' for the first and last time by myself and Chris Williams at the Dylan Thomas Centre in Swansea.

There is also a fairly new royal addition here. It's a celebration of the event of the century. Decade then. Well, year at least. Oh, come on, month. Week, for goodness' sake. No, not if you're a Catholic. For crying out loud, even if you're not. Just have a look at GIVE LAWYERS THEIR DUE and see what you make of it, then. The other song lyrics on this page are GORDON BROWN and SUPERSTAR. These were inspired by the man whose brief flirtation with the media was over almost before it had begun, and his next door neighbour who had an intensely passionate love affair with it. Past tense used because Great Leader Tony's ambitions have gone west - or east, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, they're certainly not here.

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Y Blodyn Pinc

To TANNENBAUM
Tune

                                   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.

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Give Lawyers Their Due

To LAVENDER'S BLUE
Tune

                                   Give lawyers their due, silly silly,
                                                    lawyers are keen.
                                   When I am King, silly silly,
                                                    you shall be Queen.

                                   Who told you so, silly silly,
                                                    who told you so?
                                   'Twas some old fart, silly silly,
                                                    that told me so.

                                    Call up your team, silly silly,
                                                    get it to find
                                   some long-lost clause, silly silly,
                                                    some doubtful ground.

                                   Then we'll make hay, silly silly;
                                                    then we'll have fun.
                                   You're sure to be, silly silly,
                                                    their number one.

                                   Give lawyers their due, silly silly,
                                                    lawyers are keen.
                                   When I am King, silly silly,
                                                    you shall be Queen.

                                   Who told you so, silly silly,
                                                    who told you so?
                                   'Twas some old fart, silly silly,
                                                    that told me so.