Praise famous men and Attila the Hen
Who have sworn to restore Britain's glory
When a man knew his place a nd the whole island race
Used to flock to the polls to vote Tory
Ah, those were the days when the hearts were ablaze
Inspired by our glorious mission
When the princes of Ind didn't dare to break wind
Unless they’d got Britain's permission!
Let us praise Maggie Thatcher, there's no-one can match her
At making loud threats against shirkers
(A term that embraces all union members
And ninety-percent of all workers)
She says that a picket’s not British, not cricket
Shop-stewards are all Commie traitors
They should line up the lot to be bloody well shot
With Asians and black troublemakers
Wherever there's strife you will find Mag the Knife
Working hard for the big corporations
With a blade she's a master and no-one is faster
At carving up kids’ education
When wielding the axe or imposing a tax
Or closing a school she's a winner!
She’s persuaded a whole generation to diet
By raising the price of school dinners
She's cut social services, sold council houses
Rejected a limit on prices
This cast-iron filly has recognized Chile
While carving us up in thin slices
With the cost of health higher you may just expire
(In which case less pills you'll be needing)
In the words of Ted Heath, if you can't pay for teeth
You'll be forced to cut down on your feeding
Some say that her diction’s a natural affliction
Some say she's a noisy old bag
While others will swear, yes, and loudly declare
That she's actually Hitler in drag
How her back-bencher squirm when she flashes her perm
Or cracks a coy joke on the telly
Or plays a loyal martyr for president Carter
While crawling around on her belly
Each Monday Club member is pledged to dismember
The organs of nationalization
And chaps of high merit may hope to inherit
The spoils from the sack of the nation
They're the lords of creation, the cream of the Nation
Lord Soames and Keith Joseph and others
They'll help you discover that all men are brothers
But some are more brothers than others
And so, once again, let us praise famous men
Adding chapters to Britain's proud story
They may not look bright but they're British and white
And to a man (and a woman) they're Tory
Though they look mediocre, like shady stockbrokers
At first sight as harmless as mutton
If the nuclear warheads are sent on their way
It's their fingers will be on the button.
Who have sworn to restore Britain's glory
When a man knew his place a nd the whole island race
Used to flock to the polls to vote Tory
Ah, those were the days when the hearts were ablaze
Inspired by our glorious mission
When the princes of Ind didn't dare to break wind
Unless they’d got Britain's permission!
Let us praise Maggie Thatcher, there's no-one can match her
At making loud threats against shirkers
(A term that embraces all union members
And ninety-percent of all workers)
She says that a picket’s not British, not cricket
Shop-stewards are all Commie traitors
They should line up the lot to be bloody well shot
With Asians and black troublemakers
Wherever there's strife you will find Mag the Knife
Working hard for the big corporations
With a blade she's a master and no-one is faster
At carving up kids’ education
When wielding the axe or imposing a tax
Or closing a school she's a winner!
She’s persuaded a whole generation to diet
By raising the price of school dinners
She's cut social services, sold council houses
Rejected a limit on prices
This cast-iron filly has recognized Chile
While carving us up in thin slices
With the cost of health higher you may just expire
(In which case less pills you'll be needing)
In the words of Ted Heath, if you can't pay for teeth
You'll be forced to cut down on your feeding
Some say that her diction’s a natural affliction
Some say she's a noisy old bag
While others will swear, yes, and loudly declare
That she's actually Hitler in drag
How her back-bencher squirm when she flashes her perm
Or cracks a coy joke on the telly
Or plays a loyal martyr for president Carter
While crawling around on her belly
Each Monday Club member is pledged to dismember
The organs of nationalization
And chaps of high merit may hope to inherit
The spoils from the sack of the nation
They're the lords of creation, the cream of the Nation
Lord Soames and Keith Joseph and others
They'll help you discover that all men are brothers
But some are more brothers than others
And so, once again, let us praise famous men
Adding chapters to Britain's proud story
They may not look bright but they're British and white
And to a man (and a woman) they're Tory
Though they look mediocre, like shady stockbrokers
At first sight as harmless as mutton
If the nuclear warheads are sent on their way
It's their fingers will be on the button.
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 30/7/2015 - 14:15
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Parole e musica di Ewan MacColl
Nel suo disco del 1980 intitolato “Kilroy Was Here”, con Peggy Seeger
Canzone in “lode” dei grandi uomini che alla fine degli anni 70 si apprestavano a guidare la “perfida Albione” per oltre un decennio, i Tories di “Attila The Hen” (Attila la Gallina), di “Mag The Knife” (al posto del personaggio brechtiano Mackie Messer / Mack The Knife), della “Cast-Iron Lady” amica di Pinochet, della “Hitler in drag”, ossia – come sarà capito – “The Right Honourable The Baroness Margaret Thatcher”.
A far da paggetti alla Lady di Ferro una corte di “grandi uomini”, come Sir Edward Heath, altro pezzo grosso dei conservatori negli anni 60 e 70, e tutta la “press-gang” del Conservative Monday Club, la lobby incaricata di essere “The Guardian of the Tory Conscience”, gente come Lord Soames (ultimo governatore della Rhodesia prima che diventasse indipendente come Zimbabwe, proprio nel 1980) e Lord Joseph (uno dei principali tirapiedi della Thatcher e per anni suo ministro dell’istruzione)… Tutti “Famous Men” i quali – parafrasando Orwell – aiutarono la Gran Bretagna a scoprire che “tutti gli uomini sono fratelli ma alcuni sono più fratelli di altri”.