Song Lyric Sunday Theme for 04/02/18

SLSHelen’s theme this week is “truth”.

I’ll just have a rummage in my bag of tunes to see what I can find. Hang on a bit! – just down in the bottom corner I can feel a very angry young man wriggling about and having a real rant about this, that, and the other.

He started to write this song in 1969, but it was not released until 1971 on his album, “Imagine”. It is, of course, written, and sung, by John Lennon, and is titled “Gimme Some Truth.” You can’t miss the unique sound of George Harrison on lead guitar and, to my ear, he seems to have “borrowed” some of the tune from other songs he performed, or, perhaps, he reused some of this tune in later works!

This song expresses frustration with deceptive politicians, with hypocrisy, and with chauvinism. That sentence is courtesy of Wikipedia, and it is worth following the link to read more on it to look at the background. The article explains some of the references in the song lyrics, and this may be particularly handy for those not around at the time the song was written.

Sad to say that not much has changed and it will be obvious why I have chosen this particular version.

The words, and song and artist facts can be found here, and are also shown below.

I’m sick and tired of hearing things from
Uptight short sided narrow minded hypocritics
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
I’ve had enough of reading things
By neurotic psychotic pigheaded politicians
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth

No short-haired, yellow-bellied
Son of tricky dicky’s
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocket full of hopes
Money for dope, money for rope

No short-haired, yellow-bellied,
Son of tricky dicky’s
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocket full of hopes
Money for dope, money for rope

I’m sick to death of seeing things from
Tight-lipped condescending mama’s little chauvinists
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
I’ve had enough of watching scenes from
Schizophrenic egocentric paranoiac primadonnas
All I want is the truth just give me some truth

No short-haired, yellow-bellied,
Son of tricky dicky’s
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocket full of hopes
It’s money for dope, money for rope

I’m sick to death of hearing things from
Uptight short sided narrow minded hypocritics
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
I’ve had enough of reading things
By neurotic psychotic pigheaded politicians
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth

Writer/s: JOHN WINSTON LENNON
Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Downtown Music Publishing
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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What do soldiers do?

The very last line of Owen’s poem The night in showers came to war… 

inspired me to write the following. Thank you, Owen, for the inspiration.

 

Amidst the noise and battle cry, what do soldiers do but die?

Do they rescue one another? “Let me help him, he’s my brother!”

Can they carry even one, when the bullets cease to come?

Is there any feeling left, or is it that they’re all bereft?

Amidst the noise and battle cry, what do soldiers do but die?

 

Amidst the noise and cry of battle, politicians ever prattle,

seeking ways to wage the war, counting bodies, keeping score.

Do they count the family cost, brothers, sons, and fathers lost?

Do they care for all the strife, grieving mother, child, or wife?

Amidst the noise and cry of battle, politicians ever prattle.

 

Amidst the noise and battle cry, what do soldiers do but die?

No one cared until too late, no one heeded others’ fate.

So long as profits filled the banks, businessmen all gave their thanks.

Politicians counted votes, and journalists made copious notes.

Amidst the noise and battle cry, what do soldiers do but die?

And now for something completely different.

Did you even know that such a process existed?

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Tobacco Smoke Enema Kit (1750s – 1810s).

The tobacco enema was used to infuse tobacco smoke into a patient’s rectum for various medical purposes, but primarily the resuscitation of drowning victims. The warmth of the smoke was thought to promote respiration.
Doubts about the credibility of tobacco enemas led to the popular phrase “blowing smoke up your ass.”

You are no doubt aware that this is still used by all levels of government.

smokeWant to learn more? Click here.

 

 

 

Help Is Here

This is America. Not the rubbish we see in the papers and on TV, not the over rich politicians who have no idea what it is to be hungry, or have nowhere to rest, not the overpaid sports, media, and entertainment “stars”. These are the stars!

that little voice

I returned home just days following Hurricane Harvey’s rampage through this part of Texas, getting a first hand view of the devastation to some 100+ families, not including the dozens of businesses that were impacted in our small town. The saddest part of this tragedy is most of those affected could not afford these life changing events.

They lost everything…except each other. They have no clothes, no shoes, no food, no furniture,  no school supplies, no homes, no direction…and no money.

Rebuild? How? With What?

Move? Where?

Pull yourself up with your boot straps? Who has boots?

I sat with a restaurant owner yesterday as she handed out grocery store gift cards, clothing store gift cards, and cash to her staff members who have no place to live, and no means to ‘start over’. It was important that the restaurant open because these folks needed to get a paycheck, and that wouldn’t…

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Too Soon to Speculate: thoughts on Grenfell Tower Fire

What a brilliant article by my friend Kirsty, and what chilling reading the blog of the Grenfell Action Group makes. (Linked from the “raised again and again….”) Clearly, there has been a problem for a long time, and there is still a problem with other tower blocks. No money to cure the problem? Tough – We have to find the funding! What a great community spirit has been displayed in the aftermath, with no regard to race, colour, religion or gender.
Whether you have a faith, or none, pray that you never have to experience what those fellow human beings have had to endure, and what they have to live with for ever!

kirstwrites

Sometimes you can watch the TV news unfold its daily horrors and let it just wash over you; at other times the sheer awfulness leaves you breathless, heartsick, overwhelmed. Today is one of those other days. It’s been difficult to concentrate at work today, flicking back to the news websites every so often with a pounding heart. If this is how I’m feeling, a comfortable 200 miles away from Grenfell Tower, I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for those personally affected.

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We need to talk about Diane Abbott. Now. (EXPLICIT CONTENT)

Anyone not in the UK will probably be totally bemused by this article. However, I felt that it is entirely appropriate to re blog this on the day that we are deciding who should form our government for the next 5 years.

COOKING ON A BOOTSTRAP

This is not a recipe. I wrote this as a series of tweets today and readers asked for it as a blog post, so here it is. Our politics may differ, so feel free to skip straight back to the recipes if that’s what you’re here for.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT DIANE ABBOTT.

Right one of us political writer people needs to do this and it looks like it’s me. Grab a seat. I wanna talk about Diane.
Diane was first elected as an MP in 1987, the year before I was born. She has been dedicated to serving the British public for longer than I have even been alive. Hold that thought. Understand it.
Diane was the first black woman to have a seat in the House of Commons. She MADE HISTORY. Her father was welder, her mother a nurse. How many working class kids do we have…

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Leave it Jezza, it’s not worth it!

Kirsty, one of the few blogging friends that I know IRL, has a few views about politics. She gave up soaps some time ago. Now she plans to give up politics……..well, almost!

kirstwrites

Several years ago I remember waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare about EastEnders. I think it was about Sonia Fowler – that sweet brainy trumpet-playing girl who fell in love with bad boy Martin after he’d accidentally killed her lovely previous boyfriend, then didn’t realise she was pregnant until she went into labour, gave the baby up for adoption but then had a breakdown and kidnapped the child back. 

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