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The Pinko Songbook

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

Apart from the new BREXIT addition of DECAMERON'S LEGACY, the other recent Pinko Songs are THE SWORN-AT POLICEMEN, THE DEFICIT DECEIVERS and a Blues Song about race prejudice, BLUE TREEN BLUES. If you have a passing acquaintance with the old Eagle comic, it might help. Otherwise you'll be wondering what on Earth it's about. It replaces SANDCASTLES, which has been moved is now on the 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.


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 also a song version of THE SWORN-AT POLICEMEN sung by CHRIS WILLIAMS.

Decameron’s Legacy

[A song for the Brexiteenies]


First of all were the Eur-o-loons,

a bunch of angry goons.

     They spoilt their party’s calm

     and brought our nation harm

          by pounding on the door

          and saying we’d be poor

if we ate bananas straight.


Along came a man called De-cam-e-ron,

a name to be remembered and spat upon.

     He said ‘I’ll do what people say,

     though I’m sure they’ll vote my way’.

          So he lit the Brexit fuse

          as a party-calming ruse

saying he’d stay no matter what they say.


Then he squared up to Fat Bore-us,

a man out for himself and not for us,

     but the blond one was too wise;

     he just told better lies

          until the voters went for him,

          this man who would be king,

in a race-hate filled debate.


When Decameron dared to peep

his bold words were in a heap,

     the country would be dragged down

     by a fat self-serving clown.

          The PM said ‘I can’t fail

          so I’m off to write my tale.’

and we’d seen the last of brave Dave.


Fats called to his loy-al minister,

though it was all a little bit sinister:

     ̓cos it was Gove, alas, alack

     who stabbed him in the back.

          So we were left without a leader,

          not even some gross and selfish bleeder

̓till The Maybird pecked up the crumbs.


Now the great book went flippy-floppy;

it didn’t sell a single copy*.

     Then The Maygull she flapped down

     and snatched the hollow crown.

          Fat Bore-us was aghast,

          he knew his chance had once more passed.

This belly-man would be an also-ran.


For months The Maygull hopped around

and fussed upon the ground.

     At last she took to doom-laid skies

     pursued by the crows who’d told the lies.

          They were last seen over France,

          in a strange and frenzied dance

                   squawking ‘we’ll make a meal of getting no deal’.

*In the interests of accuracy, I should record that THE BOOK did sell some copies.

Y Blodyn Pinc


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.


See below for details of the 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.

The lyrics to the traditional song (you'll recognise it if your name is CLEMENTINE)  are by me Brendan would also like to acknowledge FREESOUND for the counting sample

Condoleezza - Brendan Barker
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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, who 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 'Windrush Generation' were recently in the news again.

THE SWORN-AT Policemen


To The Laughing Policeman, with apologies to Charles Penrose.

See below for a sung version by CHRIS WILLIAMS.


                                   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 if you have good wind]


The Sworn-at Policeman - Sung by Chris Williams
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To Around the Town (see below)

(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!

'29 is Here Again - to 'Around the Town'
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