BOOZE & RIOTS

On the fourth of July, eighteen-hundred and six We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks For the grand City Hall in New York ' Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore and aft And oh, how the wild wind drove her She'd got several blasts, she had twenty-seven masts And they called her The Irish Rover We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags We had two million barrels of stones We had three million sides of old blind horses hides We had four million barrels of bones We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs Seven million barrels of porter We had eight million bails of old nanny goat's tails In the hold of the Irish Rover There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee There was Hogan from County Tyrone There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work And a man from Westmeath called Malone There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule And fighting Bill Treacy from Dover And your man, Mick McCann from the...

Jimmy won't you please come home Where the grass is green and the buffaloes roam Come see Jimmy, your uncle Jim and your auntie Jim and your cousin Jim Come home Jimmy 'cause you need a bath And your grandpa Jimmy is still gone daft Now there's buffalo Jim and buffalo Jim And Jim buffalo now didn't you know Jim Jim Jimmy its your last cigarette But there's buffalo piss, it's all kind of wet Jambo Jimmy you'd better hold your nose All roads lead to roam with the buffaloes And the Buffaloes used to say be proud of your name The Buffaloes used to say be what you are The Buffaloes used to say roam where you roam The Buffaloes used to say do what you do Well you've gotta have a wash but you can't clean your name You're not called Jimmy you'll be Jimmy just the same The keys are in the bag in the chest by the door One of Jimmy's friends has taken the floor Jimmy won't you please come home Where the grass is green and the buffaloes roam Dea...

Je voudrais sans la nommer vous parler d'elle Comme d'une bien aimée, d'une infidèle Une fille bien vivante qui se réveille À des lendemains qui chantent sous le soleil C'est elle que l'on matraque Que l'on poursuit, que l'on traque C'est elle qui se soulève Qui souffre et se met en grève C'est elle qu'on emprisonne Qu'on trahit , qu'on abandonne Qui nous donne envie de vivre Qui donne envie de la suivre Jusqu'au bout, jusqu'au bout Je voudrais sans la nommer lui rendre hommage : Jolie fleur du mois de mai ou fruit sauvage Une plante bien plantée sur ses deux jambes Et qui traîne en liberté où bon lui semble C'est elle que l'on matraque Que l'on poursuit, que l'on traque C'est elle qui se soulève Qui souffre et se met en grève Je voudrais sans la nommer vous parler d'elle : Bien-aimée ou mal-aimée, elle est fidèle ; Et si vous voulez que je vous la présente On l'appelle Révolution permanente   C'est...

 Oh, me name is Joe McDonnell, from Belfast town I came A city I will never see again For in the town of Belfast, I spent many happy days I love that town in oh, so many ways For it's there I spent my childhood, and found for me a wife I then set out to make for her a life But all my young ambitions met with bitterness and hate I soon found myself inside a prison gate And you dare to call me a terrorist, while you look down your gun When I think of all the deeds that you had done You had plundered many nations, divided many lands You had terrorised their peoples, you ruled with an iron hand And you brought this reign of terror to my land Then one cold October's morning, trapped in a lions' den I found myself imprisoned once again I was committed to the H-Blocks for fourteen years or more On the blanket, the conditions, they were poor Then a hunger strike we did commence, for the dignity of man But it seemed to me that no-one gave a damn But now I am a saddened man, I've...

Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear, lend an ear Ye Jacobites by name, lend an ear Ye Jacobites by name Your faults I will proclaim Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear, you shall hear Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear What is right, and what is wrang, by the law, by the law? What is right and what is wrang by the law? What is right, and what is wrang? A short sword, and a lang A weak arm and a strang, for to draw, for to draw A weak arm and a strang, for to draw What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar? What makes heroic strife famed afar? What makes heroic strife? To whet th' assassin's knife Or hunt a parent's life, wi' bloody war, wi' bloody war Or hunt a parent's life, wi' bloody war Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state Then let your schemes alone in the state Oh let your schemes alone Adore the rising sun And leave a man undone, to his fate, to his fate And leave a man undone, to his fate    Ye Jacobites by nam...

Go on home British soldiers, go on home Have you got no bloody homes of your own   For 800 years we've fought you without fear And we'll fight you for 800 more If you stay British soldiers, if you stay You'll never ever beat the ira For the 14 men in Derry Are the last that you will bury So take a tip, and leave us bloody be So go on home British Soldiers, go on home Have you got no bloody homes of your own For 800 years we've fought you without fear And we will fight you for 800 more We're not British, we're not Saxon, we're not English We're Irish and proud we are to be So fuck your Union Jack, we want our country back We want to see old Ireland free once more So go on home British soldiers, go on home Have you got no bloody homes of your own For 800 years we've fought you without fear And we will fight you for 800 more We'll fight them British soldiers for the cause We'll never bow to soldiers because Throughout ou...

Sauf des mouchards et des gendarmes, On ne voit plus par les chemins, Que des vieillards tristes en larmes, Des veuves et des orphelins. Paris suinte la misère,  Les heureux mêmes sont tremblant. La mode est aux conseils de guerre,  Et les pavés sont tous sanglants.   REFRAIN Oui mais! Ça branle dans le manche, Les mauvais jours finiront. Et gare! à la revanche, Quand tous les pauvres s'y mettront. Quand tous les pauvres s'y mettront. Les journaux de l'ex-préfecture, Les flibustiers, les gens tarés, Les parvenus par l'aventure, Les complaisants, les décorés Gens de Bourse et de coin de rues, Amants de filles au rebut, Grouillent comme un tas de verrues,  Sur les cadavres des vaincus.  REFRAIN Oui mais! Ça branle dans le manche, Les mauvais jours finiront. Et gare! à la revanche, Quand tous les pauvres s'y mettront. Quand tous les pauvres s'y mettront. On traque, on enchaîne, on fusille Tout ceux qu'on ramasse au hasard. La mère...