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A Pickaxe and a Stone

Jimmy Collier
Lingua: Inglese


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[1969]
Brano trovato su Broadside Magazine n.100 del luglio 1969

Jimmy Collier

Beh, non di certo una canzone pacifica…
Però ‘sto Jimmy Collier mi pare che da giovane fosse un po’ sborone… o era il comune sentire dell’epoca, che si sarebbe riusciti a far fuori tutti i “Mister”?!? Comunque Jimmy Collier continua a suonare e cantare anche oggi; lo fa con un bel cappellone da cowboy calato in testa e senza che sui cenni biografici che compaiono sulla sua pagina ci sia la benchè minima traccia del “rude rivoluzionario” che è stato da giovane…
All over the world there are things I know about
I know about your armies that go marchin’ up and down
I’ve heard tell of your cannons that kill as they boom and shout
And I want to try and tell you, though I’m sure you will find out.

I’ve heard about your Generals and the men that they control
They’ve left destruction in every town where they’ve gone
There are many men who stand ready because of what you’ve done
That I’ll kill & destroy you to defend their families and their homes.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

I’ll se your bullets, Mister, I’ll use them in my gun
And when you kill my children, Mister, you better fear for your own sons
Nat Turner, John Brown, the Vietcong will seem just like a game
When my sabotagin’ bullets fall on you like poundin’ rain.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

Now don’t you worry, Mister, my wife she will be armed
And about your daughters and your sons you better be alarmed
Too many starvin’ bellies, hungry skeletons I’ve seen cry
I don’t give a damn about you, I don’t care if you die.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

Don’t make no mistake, there’s many more like me
There are hundreds in the country, thousands in the city streets
Don’t try to slip away, don’t try to pity us, the poor
We don’t need your pity – we don’t need you – anymore.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

You know we know how to get you, ‘cause we’ve always hunted raccoon
Don’t you worry, Mister, we’ll be huntin’ you real soon
We’ll be usin’ thirty-thirties, Winchesters and carbines
Pistols and bazookas and your own tank machines.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

To fight is the choice you’ve left me – nothin’ else for me to do
And if I can’t win by myself, I’ll arm my children too
Where once there was handwritin’, there’ll be nothin’ on the wall
And I’ll be talkin’ to myself, because you won’t exist at all.

And I’ll fight you if I have to with a pickaxe and a stone
Fight you to the death, Mister, until you leave me alone.

inviata da Alessandro - 28/9/2009 - 15:49



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