Now nominated for C&F award.
Deportee
Gresford Disaster, about a mine explosion and there is also the Tommy Armstrong songs. He was a Union leader who wrote lyrics to existing melodies, just the same as Guthrie, Behan and Dylan. Good example is Trimdon Grange Disaster, Martin Carthy used Columbus Stockade for the melody. The great irony is that Trimdon Grange Colliery used to exist in Prime Minister Tony Blair’s constituency.
Bill. Welsh miner’s son and very proud of it.
Edited to add ‘killer’ verse from Gresford.
The Lord Mayor of London’s collecting
To save our poor children and wives.
The owners are sending white lillies, dear God
to pay for the poor colliers lives.
OK, here’s the anthem of The Brotherhood of Teaching Assistants.
I wrote it, trying to get the feel of a miner’s union song
for philosophy graduate students.
My mind belongs to Plato,
My pineal gland belongs toooooo Descartes,
But my nethers will slip
From the faculty’s grip
For the union has got my heart.
Oh Ma, run and see,
They gave me a star.
It took thirty years but it’s true.
I took all their shhhitt,
It was worth every bit,
Cause now I can screw students too.
Until the philosophy
which holds one race superior
and another inferior
is finally and permanently
discredited and abandoned,
everywhere is WAR
And until there’s no longer
first-class or second-class citizens
of any nations
Until the color of a man’s skin
is of no more significance
than the color of his eyes
Me say WAR
We find it necessary
and we know we shall win
As we are confident
in the victory
Of good over evil
Taken from “War,” written by Bob Marley and sung through Sinéad O’Connor. All my favorite political songs are religious.
Here’s “DigLake Fields” from De Danann’s really terrific Anthem cd:
Diglake Fields
The sun comes up on Diglake Fields,
It wakes the milk white hare,
The lady tells the stable boy
To saddle up the mare.
The hands that hold the reins are cold
The spurs are polished steel,
She’ll take the mare without a care
To race on Diglake Fields.
The sun goes down across the town
And miners start to rise
Up from their beds with sleepy heads
To leave their anxious wives,
Off they troop with ne’er a look
To get the coal below,
So hello night, farewell daylight,
Be careful how you go.
The horse’s hooves on Diglake fields
Throw water in the air
Sometimes she’s lost among the mists
That fall around the mare
At her command is all this land
And all the coal that’s there
In morning sun and at full run
She spots the milk white hare.
No sun will shine down in the mine
A thousand feet below,
No hares will run and days don’t come
Where winds refuse to blow,
And by the cold dark river’s run
They’ll stream in from the sea
And men down there who work with care
See water in their dreams.
No fear of fox or of greyhound
The hare can beat them all
She can outrun the hunter’s gun
And miner’s dogs galore
But now this lady races on
To cut this wild hare down
She dearly wants the milk white fur
To trim her dancing gown.
The coal is cleared down in the mine
Cut by the morning shift
The cutters call the firemen in
To start another drift
The shots are placed, they take a break
They pass the tea can around,
When all retire, the shots are fired
And sixty men are drowned.
In the night the fire burns bright,
The band takes up the tune,
The dance begins and heads they turn,
She moves into the room.
Her face is flushed, her eyes they shine,
They sparkle from the fire,
Her gown is cut above the breast,
It’s trimmed with milk white fur.
– by Phil & June Colclough
Billy Bragg’s version of “There is Power in the Union” and Ry Cooder’s of “Vigilante Man” are up there too.
Context is a big deal in this. I wish I still had the liner notes to quote, and I hope I’m getting this right, but somewhere Dick Gaughan tells the story of singing “Willie o’ Winsbury” for an audience that really picked up on the class tensions in the song, so what might have been antiquarian became political.
One of the great anti-Fascism songs of the last century:
Peat Bog Soldiers
A song by Johann Esser and Wolfgang Langhaff
Far and wide as the eye can wander
Heath and bog are everywhere
Not a bird sings out to cheer us
Oaks are standing, gaunt and bare
Chorus:
We are the peatbog soldiers
We’re marching with our spades
To the bog
Up and down the guards are pacing
No one, no one can go through
Flight would mean a sure death facing
Guns and barbed wire greet our view
But for us there is no complaining
Winter will in time be past
One day we shall cry rejoicing
“Homeland dear, you’re mine at last!”
Final Chorus
Then will the peatbog soldiers
March no more with spades
To the bog
Notes
This song was written by Johann Esser, a miner, and Wolfgang Langhaff, an actor, both prisoners in the German concentration camp Borgermoor near Papenburg. It was written in August 1933 and was sung to Hanns Eisler in London in January 1935. (See article by Hanns Eisler)
Die Moorsoldaten
Wohin auch das Auge blicket
Moor und Heide nur ringsum
Vogelsang uns nicht erquicket
Eichen stehen kahl und krumm
Refrain
Wir sind die Moorsoldaten
und ziehen mit dem Spaten
ins Moor
hier in dieser ÷den Heide
ist das Lager aufgebaut
wo wir fern von jeder Freude
hinter Stacheldraht verstaut
Morgens ziehen die Kolonnen
in das Moor zur Arbeit hin
Graben bei dem Brand der Sonne
doch zur Heimat steht ihr Sinn
HeimwÅrts, heimwÅrts jeder sehnet
nach den Eltern, Weib und Kind
Manche Brust ein Seufzer dehnet
weil wir hier gefangen sind
Auf und nieder gehn die Posten
keiner, keiner kann hindurch
Flucht wird uns das Leben kosten
vierfach ist umzÅunt die Burg
Doch fr uns gibt es kein Klagen
ewig kann’s nicht Winter sein
Einmal werden froh wir sagen
“Heimat, du bist wieder mein”
Refrain
Dann ziehn die Moorsoldaten
n i c h t mehr mit dem Spaten
ins Moor!
Notes
Here’s a “political” song for you- I can’t find an audio version unfortunately- how many remember this, or the songs that answer the questions? --or the 72 Conventions even?(I’ve got it on 45 around here somewhere 
)
Convention '72Delegates lyrics
Good morning ladies and gentlemen
This is Walter Clondite
From Convention Hall, Miami Beach
Bringing you the first get-together convention
Of Republicans and Democrats alike
We have Henry Kissinger and Vice-president Agnew
Standing by on the right side of the Convention Hall
Come in David Stinkley
Thank you, Walter
Ah, Mr Kissinger, amid this historic moment
With all the pomp and grandeur
Of the political system of America all around you
Tell us Sir, what are your innermost thoughts
At the very moment
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Vice-president Agnew
What are your thoughts, Sir
Right on, right on
Mr Agnew, when you heard the rumour
That President Nixon
Might not select you as his running mate again
What did you say to him
You never should have promised to me
Give it here, don’t hold back, now
Give it here, don’t say nothin’
Just give it here, come on
Ah, Mr Agnew if you were in Senator McGovern’s place
Who would you have chosen as a running mate
Bertha
Bertha, who
Bertha Butt
Who, she, Sir
One of the Butt Sisters
Do you agree, Mr Kissinger
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Thank you, Henry Kissinger and Vice-president Agnew
Back to you, Walter
Thank you, David
Now, Sidney Bruntley is over on the left side
He has Sargent Shriver with him
Sargent Shriver, what did you say to Senator McGovern
When he finally asked you to be his running mate
You just call on me brother
When you need a hand
How did you finalize your agreement with Senator McGovern
Sealed with a kiss
Oh, oh, shades of excitement
One final question, Sir
What kind of offer did Senator McGovern make you
He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse
Sidney, forgive me but our roving reporter
Larry Reasoning has Martha Mitchell on the microphone
Take it away, Larry Reasoning
Ah, Mrs Mitchell, would you like to talk to our listeners
I’ll sock it to you, Daddy
Now that your husband has resigned from politics
How do you feel, Ma’am
I’m the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A.
Mrs Mitchell your complaint
Was that your husband
Didn’t have any time to spend with you
Now that you are alone, Ma’am
What do you talk about
Aaaaaaaaaaaa…
Well, I can understand that, Mrs Mitchell
Now back to you, Walter
Sidney Bruntley is on the left side of the floor
With Mr and Mrs Eagleton and Senator McGovern
Take it away, Sidney
Thank you, Walter
Senator McGovern, how did you feel
When you and Senator Eagleton first seperated, Sir
Alone again, naturally
Oh, yes, what did you do then
Called the doctor over
And what did your physician advise
Put the lime in the coconut and call me in the morning
Everyone was turning you down, Sir
If Sergeant Shriver has also refused
Who whould you have turned to then
A Horse with no name
Oh, I love horses
Now, Senator Eagleton
How does one feel in the morning
When his world has been shattered, Sir
Weeeeell, you wake up in the morning
And your hands are shaking
And your nerves are all up tight
Well then, Senator, why didn’t you resign immediately
Am I wrong for trying to hold on
To the best thing I ever had
Yes, and what are your feelings now
Towards the people who apposed you
They smile in your face
All the time they want to take your place
The back stabbers
One final question to you, Senator Eagleton
What did you say to the newspaper columnist
When you met him face to face
Lier, lier, lier
Senator McGovern, what are your feelings on that, Sir
How can a loser ever win
Mrs, Eagleton, would you like to answer him
Who do you think you are, Mr Big Stuff
Who do you think will vote for Senator McGovern
Now that your husband is out
Gypsies, tramps and thieves
Ma’am, do you think you could have done more
For your husband during those trying times
I know it’s not my fault
I did my best
Thank you very much
Now back to you, Walter
There’s a camotion on the left side of the floor
We’ve got Senator Kennedy standing with Jane Ronda
Take it away David Stinkly
Ah, Senator Kennedy
People are talking about your political future
Because of your good looks, your smile
And the sound of your voice
Why
Aaaaaaaah
And the magnificent
If you decide to run for President in '76
Who will be your campaign manager
The candy man
Ah, Miss Ronda, Miss Ronda
Just one question, please
What do you think of President Nixon
I don’t know how to love him
Ah, thank you Miss Ronda
Ah, ah, Mr Kissinger
What are you doing all the way over here
On this side of the hall
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Gotta find a woman
Ah, that it for here, Walter
Thank you, David
Thank you, Sidney
Thank you, Larry
Thank you, America
We now return you to your local stations
The classics – If had a Hammer and This Land is Your Land.
I especially like the verses to This Land is Your Land that don’t get performed that much –
In the squares of the city, In the shadow of a steeple;
By the relief office, I’d seen my people.
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking,
Is this land made for you and me.As I went walking, I saw a sign there;
And on the sign there, It said, ‘NO TRESPASSING.’
But on the other side, It didn’t say nothing.
That side was made for you and me.
Also For What It’s Worth and Ohio.
Edited by gonzo to add National brotherhood Week.
Agreed.
Not Woody’s words, these, but anyhow:
So take your slogan
And kindly stow it.
If this is our land
You’d never know it.
Let’s join together
And overthrow it.
This land’s not
made for you and me.
I’m fond of John Prine’s Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore.
It was rather appropriate (again) in the year after Sept. 11th. as the wars heated up.
Don’t political protest songs belong in the political forum? :?
djm
I thought this the most powerful song Phil Ochs
ever wrote (note the credit to Bob Gibson, however):
Too Many Martyrs
by Phil Ochs and Bob Gibson
Em G Am
In the state of Mississippi many years ago
D Em
A boy of 14 years got a taste of southern law
Em G Am
He saw his friend a hanging and his color was his crime
Am D Em
And the blood upon his jacket left a brand upon his mind
Am D G Em
CHORUS: Too many martyrs and too many dead
Am D G Em
Too many lies too many empty words were said
Am D G Em
Too many times for too many angry men
Am D Em
Oh let it never be again
His name was Medgar Evers and he walked his road alone
Like Emmett Till and thousands more whose names we’ll never know
They tried to burn his home and they beat him to the ground
But deep inside they both knew what it took to bring him down
chorus
The killer waited by his home hidden by the night
As Evers stepped out from his car into the rifle sight
he slowly squeezed the trigger, the bullet left his side
It struck the heart of every man when Evers fell and died.
chorus
And they laid him in his grave while the bugle sounded clear
laid him in his grave when the victory was near
While we waited for the future for freedom through the land (*)
The country gained a killer and the country lost a man
chorus
‘People Get Ready’ by the Impressions always comes to mind not because it’s deeper or its message is any more profound than others but because it is such a beautiful song performed to perfection.
‘Free Nelson Mandela’ by the Specials (or was it Special AKA) is a favourite, as is ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika,’ not because it is overtly political but because its use was political and it was so powerful. For reasons we needn’t go into, the South African struggle mattered (and continues to matter) a lot to me.
Dick Gaughan has recorded countless memorable political songs. Two that come to mind immediately are ‘Willie O’Winsbury’ and ‘Crooked Jack’ (written by Dominic Behan). If you don’t think the former is political, just hear the way Gaughan sings it, especially the verse in which Willie tells the king what he can do with his lands. In one verse, that song sums up most of what I think of misused power and authority. I’d like to present the words to ‘Crooked Jack’ here but, out of respect for a request by Dick Gaughan that I not do so, here is a link:
http://www.dickgaughan.co.uk/songs/texts/crookedj.html
‘Matty Groves’ is also wonderful, as performed by Sandy Denny (in Fairport at the time.)
All politics is local politics:
_Charley on the MTA
\
- Let me tell you the story
Of a man named Charley
On a tragic and fateful day
He put ten cents in his pocket,
Kissed his wife and family
Went to ride on the MTA
Charley handed in his dime
At the Kendall Square Station
And he changed for Jamaica Plain
When he got there the conductor told him,
“One more nickel.”
Charley could not get off that train.
Chorus:
Did he ever return,
No he never returned
And his fate is still unlearn’d
He may ride forever
'neath the streets of Boston
He’s the man who never returned.
\ - Now all night long
Charley rides through the tunnels
Saying, “What will become of me?
How can I afford to see
My sister in Chelsea
Or my cousin in Roxbury?”
Charley’s wife goes down
To the Scollay Square station
Every day at quarter past two
And through the open window
She hands Charley a sandwich
As the train comes rumblin’ through.
Chorus:
\ - As his train rolled on
Through Greater Boston
Charlie looked around and sighed,
“Well, I’m sore and disgusted
And I’m absolutely busted;
I guess this is my last long ride.”
Now you citizens of Boston,
Don’t you think it’s a scandal
That the people have to pay and pay
Vote for Walter A. O’Brien
And fight the fare increase
Get poor Charley off the MTA.
Chorus:
Or else he’ll never return,
No he’ll never return
And his fate will be unlearned
He may ride forever
'neath the streets of Boston
He’s the man (Who’s the man)
He’s the man (Oh, the man)
He’s the man who never returned._
Good one Wombat…another I like by The Specials (or AKA I think it was by then too) is Racist Friend.
There was a song called Richard and Me by Gene and Tommy…out around 1968 that was about racial riots in Philadelphia…that I really like. The story in the song is about these 2 kids (or teenagers..??) one black and one white who were best friends and during the riots they were hanging out together and as i remember the words;
…the situation on the South side of Philly
was slowly getting out of hand
…and when it’s bad…baby it’s bad
Me and richard johnson were goofin’
When someone on a roof started shootin…
Shootin’ at me…at richard and me
the last verse goes on to say how Richard was killed…I tried to find the entire lyrics but couldn’t…
Remember that Web video going around about the time of the last election where it had George W. Bush and John Kerry singing it? Hilarious regardless of who you voted for. 
That one is very hard line, isn’t it? And yes, that was AKA, too. I find myself vacillating between the sentiment it expresses and more of an ‘explain it gently’ approach. When I’m really angry about a racist incident I tend to adopt the Special AKA attitude.
What a band they were. Ghost Town captures the midlands in the early Thatcher years just so well too. And when it comes to sexual politics, Rhoda Dakar’s ‘The Boiler,’ is the most powerful song I’ve ever heard, so much so that I know people who can’t bear to listen to it.
I saw the Specials when they had just put out their first album…at the Warfield in San Francisco…wow what a show it was! When they did the last song on the album ‘You’re Wondering Now’ they pulled a dozen or so people up onto the stage to just sort of groove with them. Then about a year or so later they returned to back the 2nd album and played at the Kabuki theatre…this time though there were alot of poseurs and wanna be punks and people were spitting up onto the stage as if that was a fashionable cool punk thing to do. I remember Terry stopping and saying to the spitters ‘Stop the f#*@ing spitting, no one digs that!’ …It had to be this and similiar behaviour in other places that inspired Ghost Town.