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(Новая: =Предыстория создания= См. статью Quella notte davanti alla Bussola. =Текст= В 1999 году Рикардо Вен...) |
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В 1999 году Рикардо Вентури (Riccardo Venturi) написал английский вариант песни. | В 1999 году Рикардо Вентури (Riccardo Venturi) написал английский вариант песни. | ||
| − | |||
| − | |||
| − | |||
| − | |||
| − | + | *That night in front of the "Bussola" | |
| − | + | *In the cold New Year’s eve, | |
| − | + | *That new year’s night | |
| − | + | *We shan’t never forget. | |
| − | The | + | *The Gentlemen they arrived |
| − | With their | + | *With their luxury motor cars, |
| − | + | *Casting scornful looks | |
| − | + | *At students and workers. | |
| − | + | *The ladies in evening dress | |
| − | + | *With their shoulders cover’d by furs, | |
| − | + | *The Powerful with their bow-ties | |
| − | + | *And all their starchy faces. | |
| − | They | + | *They were the same Gentlemen |
| − | + | *Who exploit us all the year long, | |
| − | + | *Those who make us die | |
| − | + | *In the factories nearby | |
| − | + | *They came to rejoice and drink | |
| − | + | *After a whole year of exploitation, | |
| − | + | *Hoping that the year to come | |
| − | + | *Will bring them still more profit | |
| − | + | *The Comrades, they know well | |
| − | + | *All of them and cannot stop, | |
| − | + | *And they throw rotten tomatoes, | |
| − | And | + | *And they all spit at their faces |
| − | + | *But someone’s blown in a trumpet | |
| − | + | *To defend those exploiters, | |
| − | The | + | *The Police are rushing quickly |
| − | + | *And is having a free-for-all | |
| − | + | *How beautiful the cops are | |
| − | + | *When they beat up people in handcuffs, | |
| − | + | *The young Comrades in high school age | |
| − | + | *Fourteen to seventeen years old | |
| − | And | + | *And they don’t stop beating |
| − | + | *If the lieutenant don’t tell them to stop, | |
| − | + | *They’re the most realistic image | |
| − | + | *Of our established order | |
| − | + | *And we already can see the Police | |
| − | And | + | *Drawing up in battle array |
| − | + | *To begin the man-hunt | |
| − | + | *With patrol and armoured cars | |
| − | We | + | *We can’t flee away from there |
| − | And | + | *And leave our Comrades behind, |
| − | + | *We’ve been caught into a trap | |
| − | + | *And cannot reach our cars | |
| − | + | *We decide to hold out | |
| − | + | *And we build up barricades | |
| − | + | *That’s a better way to resist | |
| − | + | *The subsequent attacks | |
| − | + | *From the first barricade | |
| − | + | *To the area held by the Police | |
| − | + | *There’s a dark no man’s land | |
| − | + | *Of about thirty yards | |
| − | + | *When the Police begins to advance | |
| − | + | *A cop fires a shot in the air, | |
| − | + | *The Comrades they throw stones | |
| − | + | *Trying to stop the Police | |
| − | + | *The Police stops for a moment, | |
| − | + | *Then they retake their advance, | |
| − | + | *Now it isn’t one only, | |
| − | + | *Now a lot of them is shooting | |
| − | + | *From the first barricade | |
| − | + | *We can see well the guns, | |
| − | + | *But from the other one, the Comrades | |
| − | + | *Think they are only petards | |
| − | + | *We draw back all together | |
| − | We | + | *To the other barricade, |
| − | And | + | *And the cops they retreat, |
| − | + | *The thing’s taking a bad turn | |
| − | + | *One hour more of attacks | |
| − | + | *We with our stones and they with their guns, | |
| − | + | *And we think they’re firing blank shots | |
| − | + | *Even from an armoured car | |
| − | I | + | *But, suddenly, I see a Comrade |
| − | + | *Fall to the ground to my right, | |
| − | + | *He falls on his knees with a hole | |
| − | + | *And his trousers stained with blood | |
| − | + | *I turn and shout: "They’re shooting!" | |
| − | And | + | *And I run backwards for a while, |
| − | + | *Two Comrades carry on their shoulders | |
| − | + | *The Comrade wounded in one leg | |
| − | + | *Running fast on the street’s pavement | |
| − | + | *And pursued by the Police, | |
| − | + | *I can see Ceccanti mortally wounded | |
| − | + | *Being carried on the sidewalk | |
| − | + | *We all do our best to help him, | |
| − | + | *But it’s difficult to find rescue | |
| − | + | *While we’re pursued by the cops, | |
| − | + | *They give us no respite | |
| − | + | *Luckily, we find a runabout | |
| − | + | *And we take Ceccanti away, | |
| − | + | *There’s nothing more we can do | |
| − | + | *But running away in haste | |
| − | + | *Maybe tonight at the "Bussola" | |
| − | + | *The masters have taken offence, | |
| − | + | *They who offend us and kill us | |
| − | + | *For the remaining twelve months | |
| − | + | *We’d better offending them more often | |
| − | + | *And never giving them any respite, | |
| − | + | *Every time these Gentlemen | |
| − | + | *Happen to be within our range | |
| − | + | *And now I think we should make | |
| − | + | *Some remarks on the situation, | |
| − | + | *On the different ugly faces | |
| − | + | *The Masters show us nowadays | |
| − | + | *They have money to buy us, | |
| − | + | *They give work to exploit us, | |
| − | + | *They have their Police to kill us | |
| − | + | *And the TV to cheat us | |
| − | The only good thing we can do | + | *The only good thing we can do |
| − | Is revolting, refusing their tricks, | + | *Is revolting, refusing their tricks, |
| − | Refusing their false freedom | + | *Refusing their false freedom, |
| − | That’s all shit for the people. | + | *That’s all shit for the people |
| + | |||
| + | *The only good thing we can do | ||
| + | *Is revolting, refusing their tricks, | ||
| + | *Refusing their false freedom | ||
| + | *That’s all shit for the people. | ||
Revision as of 17:30, 3 January 2008
Предыстория создания
См. статью Quella notte davanti alla Bussola.
Текст
В 1999 году Рикардо Вентури (Riccardo Venturi) написал английский вариант песни.
- That night in front of the "Bussola"
- In the cold New Year’s eve,
- That new year’s night
- We shan’t never forget.
- The Gentlemen they arrived
- With their luxury motor cars,
- Casting scornful looks
- At students and workers.
- The ladies in evening dress
- With their shoulders cover’d by furs,
- The Powerful with their bow-ties
- And all their starchy faces.
- They were the same Gentlemen
- Who exploit us all the year long,
- Those who make us die
- In the factories nearby
- They came to rejoice and drink
- After a whole year of exploitation,
- Hoping that the year to come
- Will bring them still more profit
- The Comrades, they know well
- All of them and cannot stop,
- And they throw rotten tomatoes,
- And they all spit at their faces
- But someone’s blown in a trumpet
- To defend those exploiters,
- The Police are rushing quickly
- And is having a free-for-all
- How beautiful the cops are
- When they beat up people in handcuffs,
- The young Comrades in high school age
- Fourteen to seventeen years old
- And they don’t stop beating
- If the lieutenant don’t tell them to stop,
- They’re the most realistic image
- Of our established order
- And we already can see the Police
- Drawing up in battle array
- To begin the man-hunt
- With patrol and armoured cars
- We can’t flee away from there
- And leave our Comrades behind,
- We’ve been caught into a trap
- And cannot reach our cars
- We decide to hold out
- And we build up barricades
- That’s a better way to resist
- The subsequent attacks
- From the first barricade
- To the area held by the Police
- There’s a dark no man’s land
- Of about thirty yards
- When the Police begins to advance
- A cop fires a shot in the air,
- The Comrades they throw stones
- Trying to stop the Police
- The Police stops for a moment,
- Then they retake their advance,
- Now it isn’t one only,
- Now a lot of them is shooting
- From the first barricade
- We can see well the guns,
- But from the other one, the Comrades
- Think they are only petards
- We draw back all together
- To the other barricade,
- And the cops they retreat,
- The thing’s taking a bad turn
- One hour more of attacks
- We with our stones and they with their guns,
- And we think they’re firing blank shots
- Even from an armoured car
- But, suddenly, I see a Comrade
- Fall to the ground to my right,
- He falls on his knees with a hole
- And his trousers stained with blood
- I turn and shout: "They’re shooting!"
- And I run backwards for a while,
- Two Comrades carry on their shoulders
- The Comrade wounded in one leg
- Running fast on the street’s pavement
- And pursued by the Police,
- I can see Ceccanti mortally wounded
- Being carried on the sidewalk
- We all do our best to help him,
- But it’s difficult to find rescue
- While we’re pursued by the cops,
- They give us no respite
- Luckily, we find a runabout
- And we take Ceccanti away,
- There’s nothing more we can do
- But running away in haste
- Maybe tonight at the "Bussola"
- The masters have taken offence,
- They who offend us and kill us
- For the remaining twelve months
- We’d better offending them more often
- And never giving them any respite,
- Every time these Gentlemen
- Happen to be within our range
- And now I think we should make
- Some remarks on the situation,
- On the different ugly faces
- The Masters show us nowadays
- They have money to buy us,
- They give work to exploit us,
- They have their Police to kill us
- And the TV to cheat us
- The only good thing we can do
- Is revolting, refusing their tricks,
- Refusing their false freedom,
- That’s all shit for the people
- The only good thing we can do
- Is revolting, refusing their tricks,
- Refusing their false freedom
- That’s all shit for the people.
