Pony Party! The Internationale!

These are Billy Bragg’s updated lyrics!

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  1. Ponies of the world, unite!

  2. The International

    Written by: Eugène Pottier – Paris, June 1871

    Music by: Pierre Degeyter – 1888

    Arise ye workers from your slumbers

    Arise ye prisoners of want

    For reason in revolt now thunders

    And at last ends the age of cant.

    Away with all your superstitions

    Servile masses arise, arise

    We’ll change henceforth the old tradition

    And spurn the dust to win the prize.

    So comrades, come rally

    And the last fight let us face

    The Internationale unites the human race.

    No more deluded by reaction

    On tyrants only we’ll make war

    The soldiers too will take strike action

    They’ll break ranks and fight no more

    And if those cannibals keep trying

    To sacrifice us to their pride

    They soon shall hear the bullets flying

    We’ll shoot the generals on our own side.

    So comrades, come rally

    And the last fight let us face

    The Internationale unites the human race.

    No saviour from on high delivers

    No faith have we in prince or peer

    Our own right hand the chains must shiver

    Chains of hatred, greed and fear

    E’er the thieves will out with their booty

    And give to all a happier lot.

    Each at the forge must do their duty

    And we’ll strike while the iron is hot.The International

    So comrades, come rally

    And the last fight let us face

    The Internationale unites the human race.

    “The Internationale (L’Internationale in French) is the most famous socialist (also anarchist, communist and social democratic) song and one of the most widely recognized songs in the world. The original French words were written in 1870 by Eugène Pottier (1816-1887, later a member of the Paris Commune) and were originally intended to be sung to the tune of La Marseillaise. Pierre Degeyter (1848-1932) set the poem to music in 1888 and his melody became widely used soon after.”

  3. Debout les damnés de la terre

    Debout les forçats de la faim

    La raison tonne en son cratère

    C’est l’éruption de la fin

    Du passe faisons table rase

    Foules, esclaves, debout, debout

    Le monde va changer de base

    Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout

    C’est la lutte finale

    Groupons-nous, et demain (bis)


    Sera le genre humain

    Il n’est pas de sauveurs suprêmes

    Ni Dieu, ni César, ni tribun

    Producteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmes

    Décrétons le salut commun

    Pour que le voleur rende gorge

    Pour tirer l’esprit du cachot

    Soufflons nous-mêmes notre forge

    Battons le fer quand il est chaud

    L’état comprime et la loi triche

    L’impôt saigne le malheureux

    Nul devoir ne s’impose au riche

    Le droit du pauvre est un mot creux

    C’est assez, languir en tutelle

    L’égalité veut d’autres lois

    Pas de droits sans devoirs dit-elle

    Egaux, pas de devoirs sans droits

    Hideux dans leur apothéose

    Les rois de la mine et du rail

    Ont-ils jamais fait autre chose

    Que dévaliser le travail

    Dans les coffres-forts de la bande

    Ce qu’il a crée s’est fondu

    En décrétant qu’on le lui rende

    Le peuple ne veut que son dû.

    Les rois nous saoulaient de fumées

    Paix entre nous, guerre aux tyrans

    Appliquons la grève aux armées

    Crosse en l’air, et rompons les rangs

    S’ils s’obstinent, ces cannibales

    A faire de nous des héros

    Ils sauront bientôt que nos balles

    Sont pour nos propres généraux

    Ouvriers, paysans, nous sommes

    Le grand parti des travailleurs

    La terre n’appartient qu’aux hommes

    L’oisif ira loger ailleurs

    Combien, de nos chairs se repaissent

    Mais si les corbeaux, les vautours

    Un de ces matins disparaissent

    Le soleil brillera toujours.

    Would be good to have a diary on this or on the Commune on May 1.

    Vive la Revolution!

  4. It was early springtime when the strike was on,

    They drove us miners out of doors,

    Out from the houses that the Company owned,

    We moved into tents up at old Ludlow.

    I was worried bad about my children,

    Soldiers guarding the railroad bridge,

    Every once in a while a bullet would fly,

    Kick up gravel under my feet.

    We were so afraid you would kill our children,

    We dug us a cave that was seven foot deep,

    Carried our young ones and pregnant women

    Down inside the cave to sleep.

    That very night your soldiers waited,

    Until all us miners were asleep,

    You snuck around our little tent town,

    Soaked our tents with your kerosene.

    You struck a match and in the blaze that started,

    You pulled the triggers of your gatling guns,

    I made a run for the children but the fire wall stopped me.

    Thirteen children died from your guns.

    I carried my blanket to a wire fence corner,

    Watched the fire till the blaze died down,

    I helped some people drag their belongings,

    While your bullets killed us all around.

    I never will forget the look on the faces

    Of the men and women that awful day,

    When we stood around to preach their funerals,

    And lay the corpses of the dead away.

    We told the Colorado Governor to call the President,

    Tell him to call off his National Guard,

    But the National Guard belonged to the Governor,

    So he didn’t try so very hard.

    Our women from Trinidad they hauled some potatoes,

    Up to Walsenburg in a little cart,

    They sold their potatoes and brought some guns back,

    And they put a gun in every hand.

    The state soldiers jumped us in a wire fence corners,

    They did not know we had these guns,

    And the Red-neck Miners mowed down these troopers,

    You should have seen those poor boys run.

    We took some cement and walled that cave up,

    Where you killed these thirteen children inside,

    I said, “God bless the Mine Workers’ Union,”

    And then I hung my head and cried.

    –Woody Guthrie

  5. Here’s Billy Bragg with Kate Nash!  He’s still kickin’.

  6. When we sing of the time of cherries,

    Gay nightingales and mocking blackbirds will celebrate,

    Pretty girls will have folly in their heads, and lovers – sunshine in their hearts.  

    When we sing of the time of cherries, the mockingbird will sing better.

    But it is very short, the time of cherries, where some go to gather earrings in a dream,

    Cherries of love in similar gowns falling beneath the leaves like drops of blood.  

    But it is very short, the time of cherries, coral pendants which one gathers in a dream.

    I will always love the time of cherries,

    It’s from those times that I hold in my heart an open wound,

    And the offerings of Lady Luck can never sooth my suffering.

    I will always love the time of cherries, and the memory I hold in my heart.

    Known as “la chanson de la Commune” and sung by many generations of revolutionaries, this song is usually associated with the Paris Commune, though it was written before. Clément, who fought on the barricades in 1871, was more than poor; he traded the rights of the song for a fur coat to his friend Renard (the composer). In 1885 Clément published a collection of his songs, Premier recueil de chansons, and added a dedication to the song: “A la vaillante citoyenne Louise, l’ambulancière de la rue Fontaine-au-Roi, le dimanche 28 mai 1871.” This dedication helped the romantic idea that the song was writtten on the last barricades. (I think that Louise is Louise Michel, known as “la vierge rouge” (the Red Virgin), another famous “communarde.”) It is now known as a love song and has been interpreted by Edith Piaf, Tino Rossi, Charles Trenet, Yves Montand, and Nana Mouskouri.

    Apologies for the translation!

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