quote:

---

Come and sing a simple song of freedom
Sing it like you've never sung before
Let it fill the air
Tell the people everywhere
That we the people here, don't want a war
Let it fill the air
Tell the people everywhere
That we the people here, don't want a war

---

quote:

---

Come on mothers throughout the land
Pack your boys off to Vietnam
Come on fathers, don't hesitate
Send your daughters off before it's too late
Be the first one on your block
To have your kids come home in a box.

And it's one, two, three,
What're we fightin' for?
Don't ask me 'cause I don't give a damn,
Next stop is Vietnam!
And it's five, six, seven,
Open up the pearly gates,
Well, there ain't no time to wonder why,
Whoopee! We're all gonna die.

---

That was from memory. I'll see if I can find a free version of the melody.

ETA: That was easy. That page has the full text, the guitar chords, and a little real-audio version of the song.

[ 18 December 2006: Message edited by: unionist ]

Marvin Gaye, Mercy, Mercy, Me (The Ecology).

John Prine, Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore.

quote:

---

While digesting Reader’s Digest
In the back of a dirty book store
A plastic flag with gum on the back
Fell out on the floor.
Well,I picked it up and ran outside
And slapped it on my windowshield.
And If I could see ol’ Betsy Ross
I’d tell her how good I feel.

(Chorus)
But, you flag decal won’t get you
Into Heaven anymore.
They’re already overcrowded
From your dirty little war
Now Jesus don’t like Killin’
No matter what the reasons for.
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.

Well,I went to the Bank this morning
And the cashier said to me
If you join the Christmas Club
We'll give you ten of them flags for free.
I didn’t mess a round a bit
I took him up on what he said
And stuck them stickers all over my car
And one on my wife’s forehead.

(Chorus)
But, you flag decal won’t get you
Into Heaven anymore.
They’re already overcrowded
From your dirty little war
Now Jesus don’t like Killin’
No matter what the reasons for.
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.

Well,I got my windshield so filled with flags I couldn’t see
So I ran my car upside a curb and right into a tree
By the time they got a doctor down
I was already dead,
And I’ll never understand
Why the man,
Standing in the Pearly Gates said…

(Chorus)
But your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore,
We’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war
Now Jesus don’t like killin’
No matter what the reasons for.
And your flag decal won’t get you into Heaven anymore.

---

[ 18 December 2006: Message edited by: B.L. Zeebub LLD ]

quote:

---

I was born by the river in a little tent
And just like the river I've been running ever since
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

It's been too hard living but I'm afraid to die
'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change is gonna come

I go to the movie and I go downtown somebody keep telling me don't hang around
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come, oh yes it will

Then I go to my brother
And I say brother help me please
But he winds up knockin' me
Back down on my knees

There been times that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on
It's been a long, a long time coming
But I know a change gonna come

---

Padded with power here they come
international loan sharks backed by the guns
of market hungry military profiteers
whose word is a swamp and whose brow is smeared
with the blood of the poor

Who rob life of its quality
who render rage a necessity
by turning countries into labour camps
modern slavers in drag as champions of freedom

Sinister cynical instrument
who makes the gun into a sacrament --
the only response to the deification
of tyranny by so-called "developed" nations'
idolatry of ideology

North south east west
kill the best and buy the rest
it's just spend a buck to make a buck
you don't really give a flying fuck
about the people in misery

IMF dirty MF
takes away everything it can get
always making certain that there's one thing left
keep them on the hook with insupportable debt

See the paid-off local bottom feeders
passing themselves off as leaders
kiss the ladies shake hands with the fellows
open for business like a cheap bordello

And they call it democracy
and they call it democracy
and they call it democracy
and they call it democracy

See the loaded eyes of the children too
trying to make the best of it the way kids do
one day you're going to rise from your habitual feast
to find yourself staring down the throat of the beast
they call the revolution

In sixteen forty nine, to St George's Hill
a ragged band they called the Diggers came to show the peoples' will
they defied the Landlords, they defied the laws
they were the dispossessed, reclaiming what was theirs

"we come in peace" they said, to dig and sow
we come to work the lands in common and to make the wastegrounds grow
this earth divided, we will make whole
so it will be a common treasury for all

the sin of property, we do disdain
no man has any right to buy and sell the earth for private gain
by theft and murder, they took the land
now everywhere the walls spring up at their command

they make the laws, to chain us well
the clergy dazzle us with heaven or they damn us into hell
we will not worship, the god they serve
the god of greed who feeds the rich while poor man starve

we work, we eat together, we need no swords
we will not bow to the masters or pay rent to the lords
we are free men, though we are poor
you diggers all stand up for glory stand up now

from the men of property, the orders came
they sent the hired men and troopers to wipe out the Diggers' claim
tear down their cottages, destroy their corn
they were dispersed, but still the vision lingers on

We're the idlers, we're the skivers, we're the undeserving poor
See how prettily we curtsy and we bow?
See us stand with cap in hand again outside the rich man's door
For the new Victorian age is dawning now
And we mind our manners as before, we watch our Q's and P's
We're grateful for the handouts and we always try to please
And we will not raise our heads when they prefer us on our knees
For we're only idle undeserving poor

cho: But we're knocking at the door, we're knocking at the door
And a penny in the poor man's hat will no longer do
You'd better open wide and let us come in inside
For the knocking's nearly over and the door's coming through

We were jumped up little oiks and erks, the undeserving poor
When we found ourselves the masters for a day
For we'd fought and bled and died a lot to win the second war
And we thought we'd earned the right to have our say
So we sang of New Jerusalem, they didn't like the song
They threw their spanners in the works and laughed when all went wrong
And we should have known they'd never let us be the masters long
Not the jumped up oiks, the undeserving poor

Then they taught us to be selfish, never had it so good poor
And they dangled such a tempting, juicy fly
And we saw their shabby goodies in an 'I'm Alright Jack' store
And we couldn't wait to rush inside and buy
For then money was the godhead and the only gospel greed
We sold our gains to fill the ad-man's non-existent need
With a mess of tatty trinkets and a pile of plastic beads
And we stayed the idle, undeserving poor

Still we trusted in their promises, we undeserving poor
When they said we marched toward some sunlit plain
All the dark times were behind us, only golden days before
But it turned into the same old lies again
For they gave the rope we asked for and we didn't have a care
As they showed us to the scaffold, and we blithely climbed the stair
Then they kicked away the trap and left us hanging in the air
And we're hanging still, the undeserving poor

And if you've not yet enlisted in the army of the poor
Never fear, you've call-up papers on the way
Or perhaps you think you're fireproof, well you'd better think some more
For your turn is coming soon some future day
They don't need you on the land now or on the factory floor
They won't even need you when they go and start the final war
Best be ready when they start to ask what do they need you for
When you're only idle, undeserving poor

But you haven't done your duty when you've sung about the poor
If you never raise a hand to ease their plight
If you sing the chorus louder, it might ease your conscience more
But pious thoughts do not excuse you from the fight
For the times are getting harder and we haven't seen the worse
They still foul the wells of plenty while so many die of thirst
So we will rebuild Jerusalem but clean the temple first
And they'll wish they'd taken pity on the poor.

that's at least one good point about the fringe dwellers. at least they can hold on to a thought and carry a tune at the same time. (although Bruce will probably be the first one to tell you the latter part of the equation was rather touch-and-go at first).

[ 18 December 2006: Message edited by: BitWhys ]

By Rush

There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced they're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade.

There is trouble in the forest,
And the creatures all have fled,
As the maples scream "Oppression!"
And the oaks just shake their heads

It says here the unions will never learn.
And it says here the economy's on the upturn.
And it says here we should be proud that we are free
and our free press reflects our democracy.

Those braying voices on the right of the House
are echoed down the street of shame,
where politics is mixed with bingo and tits
in a money and numbers game.
Where they offer you a vision of
stockings and suspenders
next to calls for stiffer penalties for
sex offenders.

It says here the prince's prince is born.
And it says here, "do you ever wish that you were better informed.
And it says here that we can only stop the rot
with a large dose of law and order
and a touch of the short sharp shock.

If this does not reflect your views you should understand
its those who own the papers that control this land
and they'd rather you believe in Coronation Street capers
and the war of circulation that sells newspapers.
Could it be an infringement of the freedom of the press
to print pictures of women in states of undress?

When you wake up to the fact that your paper is Tory,
just remember, there's two sides to every story.

Quebec-based politically driven hardcore band. They rock the socks.

Holiday in Cambodia

So you been to school
For a year or two
And you know youve seen it all
In daddys car
Thinkin youll go far
Back east your type dont crawl

Play ethnicky jazz
To parade your snazz
On your five grand stereo
Braggin that you know
How the niggers feel cold
And the slums got so much soul

Its time to taste what you most fear
Right guard will not help you here
Brace yourself, my dear

Its a holiday in cambodia
Its tough, kid, but its life
Its a holiday in cambodia
Dont forget to pack a wife

Youre a star-belly sneech
You suck like a leach
You want everyone to act like you
Kiss ass while you bitch
So you can get rich
But your boss gets richer off you

Well youll work harder
With a gun in your back
For a bowl of rice a day
Slave for soldiers
Till you starve
Then your head is skewered on a stake

Now you can go where people are one
Now you can go where they get things done
What you need, my son.

Is a holiday in cambodia
Where people dress in black
A holiday in cambodia
Where youll kiss ass or crack

Pol pot, pol pot, pol pot, pol pot, etc.

My current favourite is Tim Robbin's update of Here's to the state of Mississippi by Phil Ochs, as performed by Ed from Pearl Jam on the Pearl Jam epsiode of VH1 Storytellers.

Here's to the State of George W.

[ 18 December 2006: Message edited by: Left Turn ]

It's from "ugly rumours" the same name of the band that Tony Blair was in. There's a video sample on the link.

Apparently the full video ends with George Galloway arresting the Blair lookalike.

It costs 79p (around $2) to download the full song with about 50 cents of that going to the stop war coalition. Everytime someone pays to download it's registered for the charts on the 1 January 2007.

Definitely a creative way to get a good message out.

Here's the website with details:

Ugly Rumours

Here's the trailer for the video:

war trailer

BTW did anyone see Galloway tonight on the Hour on CBC. He stated in a few minutes the most direct and eloquant attack against the Harper government and the direction our country is taking I've ever seen on the media.

Of the songs that made an impact on society, I would nominate Gaye's What's Going On, though probably many here would find it too mushy, or whatever word would be appropriate.

quote:

---

Mother, mother
There's too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There's far too many of you dying
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today - Ya

Father, father
We don't need to escalate
You see, war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Kindrid:
The Trees Lyrics...

---

"20 years of schooling and they put you on the day shift, look out kids, they keep it all hid."

quote:

---

Originally posted by unionist:
[QB]Well, there are so many, but let's start with the "I Feel Like I'm a-Fixin' to Die Rag" by Country Joe and the Fish (this is Country Joe's later gender-neutral version):

That was from memory. I'll see if I can find a free version of the melody.

ETA: That was easy. That page has the full text, the guitar chords, and a little real-audio version of the song.

---

Second choice:

quote:

---

ANTI-FLAG LYRICS

"Die For Your Government"

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!

there's a gulf war vet, dying a slow, cold death
and the government says, "we don't know the source of his sickness."
but don't believe what they say, because your government is lying
they've done it before and don't you know they'll do it again
a secret test, government built virus "subject test group: gulf battle field troops"

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!

first world war veterans slaughtered, by general eisenhower
you give them your life, they give you a stab in the back
radiation, agent orange, tested on U.S souls guinea pigs for western corporations
i never have, i never will pledge allegiance to their flag you're getting used, you'll end up dead!

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!

i don't need you to tell me what to do
and i don't need you to tell me what to be... fuck you!
i don't need you to tell me what to say
and i don't need you to tell me what to think!
what to think! what to think, what to think, what to think, think, think, think!

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, die for your country? that's shit!

you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
you've gotta die, gotta die, gotta die for your government?
die for your country? that's shit!
that's shit!

---

[ 19 December 2006: Message edited by: Noise ]

THE BAND PLAYED WALTZING MATILDA
(Eric Bogle)

Now when I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murry's green basin to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 my country said, "Son,
It's time you stop rambling, there's work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As the ship pulled away from the quay
And midst all the cheers, flag waving and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli

And how well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was ready, he primed himself well.
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shells,
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.
(But) And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As we stopped to bury our slain,
We buried ours, the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

And those that were left, well we tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me ass over head
And when I awoke in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead.
Never knew there were worse things than dying.
For I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush far and free
To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more waltzing Matilda for me.

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, and maimed,
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind and insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And when our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And I thank Christ there was no body waiting for me
To grieve, to mourn and to pity.
But the Band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.

So now every April I sit on me porch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reviving old dreams and past glory,
And the old men march slowly, all bone stiff and sore
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear
Someday, no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billibong
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?

No Man's Land
Eric Bogle

Well how do you do Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
And rest for awhile beneath the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and now I'm nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916;
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
Or, young Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Refrain:
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the Death March
As they lowered you down?
Did the band play
"The Last Post And Chorus?"
Did the pipes play
"The Flowers Of The Forest?"

Did you leave 'ere a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And although you died back in 1916,
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn, and battered and stained,
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?
Refrain:

Ah the sun now it shines on these green fields of France,
The warm summer breeze makes the red poppies dance,
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds;
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there're no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard is still No Man's Land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
Refrain:

Here's one by CCR that grew up with that always meant something to me, because it's quite personal and expresses I have pretty much always felt.

Fortunate Son
1970

Some folks are born
made to wave the flag

Ooh
they're red
white and blue.
And when the band plays
Hail to the chief

they point the cannon right at you.
It ain't me
it ain't me
it ain't no senator's son.
It ain't me
it ain't me;
I ain't no fortunate one.

Some folks are born
silver spoon in hand

Lord
don't they help themselves.
But when the tax man
comes to the door
Lord
the house looks like a rummage sale.

It ain't me
it ain't me
I ain't no millionaire's son.
It ain't me
it ain't me;
I ain't no fortunate one.

Some folks in here it
star spangled eyes

Ooh
they send you down to war.
And when you ask them
How much should we give ?
They only answer more ! more ! more !

quote:

---

Originally posted by jrootham:

No Man's Land
Eric Bogle

---

An Excellent choice, and an old favorite of mine.

Years ago, during basic training, I wrote the song lyrics out and presented them to a WO who had expressed an interest. He then copied and distributed them to about 120 soldiers-in-training.

Unfortunately, such dovish idealism is no longer a sanctioned part of the Canadian military's culture.

[ 20 December 2006: Message edited by: Legless-Marine ]

quote:

---

Originally posted by Legless-Marine:
Another antiwar favorite: "One tin soldier"

---

It says the thread is ready for this:

quote:

---

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

---

Gil scott Heron

[ 20 December 2006: Message edited by: Cueball ]