/

about

2018

lyrics

I was a fat dirty old punk
keeping my angryness in a bunk,
or raging or gettin' drunk :
high values are so full of junk
- hidden in the backyard
they consumed me so hard.
It ain't about the money, it ain't about the fame,
a black flag stands over the rules of a twisted game.
No god will gently come to end your misery,
to blame you are the one for your own slavery...
I won't yell,
hear this peacefull riddim.
To the gates of hell
I will probably bear this dream.
Everywhere it is the same :
"work, fatherland, family"
- these words empty and vain
that shall never vary ;
everywhere they restrain our forces with luxury,
comfort and obtain we chop of life the tree.
Hm, I am dead - and if not have no life
for a small piece of bread or a meaningless strife.
I will not yell,
hear this peacefull riddim,
to the gates of hell
I will probably bear this dream.
It ain't about the money, it ain't about the fame :
a black flag stands over the rules of a twisted game.
Load your finest horn,
grab a shovel, dig their tombs,
raise poultry, grow corn
'cos these are the real bombs.
It ain't about the money, it ain't about the fame :
a black flag stands over the rules of a twisted game.

credits

from The red sunset / Sad reggae, released July 14, 2019

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Mournful Skank France

Mournful Skank is an experimental project exploring sad reggae, acoustic dark dub, hybrid skank ;)

I support free music (enter 0 for price).
Still, you can contribute if you like or use.
My work is under creative commons BYNCSA

My music is influenced by William Blake, les Béru, Coil, the Gladiators, Horace Andy, Dead Combo, Portishead, Tom Waits, Castaneda. Ainsi parlait Zarathoustra.
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