- published: 22 Feb 2013
- views: 1031935
The Pogues are a Celtic punk band from London, formed in 1982 and fronted by Shane MacGowan. The band reached international prominence in the 1980s and early 1990s. MacGowan left the band in 1991 due to drinking problems but the band continued first with Joe Strummer and then with Spider Stacy on vocals before breaking up in 1996. The band reformed in late 2001, and has been playing regularly ever since, on the US East Coast around St Patrick's Day and across the UK and Ireland. The group has yet to record any new music and, according to Spider Stacy on Pogues.com, has no inclination to do so.
Their politically tinged music was informed by MacGowan and Stacy's punk backgrounds, yet used traditional Irish instruments such as the tin whistle, banjo, cittern, mandolin and accordion.
The Pogues were founded in Kings Cross, a district of Central London, in 1982 as Pogue Mahone—pogue mahone being the anglicisation of the Irish póg mo thóin, meaning "kiss my arse".
The Pogues have influenced many bands throughout the years, as Flogging Molly, Dropkick Murphys and Greenland Whalefishers.
Once upon a time in the land of Hushabye
Around about the wondrous days of yore
They came across a sort of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled, "Kindly do not touch, it's war"
Decree was issued round about all with a flourish and a shout
And a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on the fore
"Don't fiddle with this deadly box
Or break the chains, or pick the locks
And please, don't ever play about with war"
Well, the children understood, children happen to be good
They were just as good around the time of yore
They didn't try to pick the locks
Or break into that deadly box
They never tried to play about with war
Mommies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither
'Cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty
In those wondrous days of yore
Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow
For opening up that deadly box of war
But someone did, someone battered in the lid
And spilled the insides out across the floor
A sort of bouncy bumpy ball made up of guns and flags
And all the tears and horror and the death that goes with war
It bounced right out and went bashing all about
And bumping into everything in store
And what was sad and most unfair
Is that it didn't really seem to care
Much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for
It bumped the children mainly, and I'll tell you this quite plainly
It bumps them everyday and more and more
And leaves them dead and burned and dying
Thousands of them sick and crying
'Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore
Now there's a way to stop the ball, it isn't difficult at all
All it takes is wisdom
I'm absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box
And bind the chains and lock the locks
No one seems to want to save the children anymore
Well, that's the way it all appears
'Cause it's been bouncing 'round for years and years
In spite of all the wisdom whizzed since those wondrous days of yore
And the time they came across the box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks