Me and Bob Mugabe
July 16th, 2008
This was sent to us today – support for Zimbabwe from Northern Ireland. (It was posted on YouTube in early March). I’m not sure its what Kris Kristofferson had in mind when he wrote the song, but I am sure he and Janis Joplin, who made the song famous, would thoroughly approve of the way it has been used.
July 16th, 2008 16:19
Yes, this is really clever! I love Irish singers too.
Apparently, Mugabe was seen on TV today again lashing out at Britain. “What is Zimbabwe to Britain?” He again asked for the umpteenth time. It’s funny how he decries Britain so much, and yet, when he was still allowed there people say that when he visited Harrods shop in London he and his wife knew the names of every checkout girl.
Mugabe is a man of unparalled arrogance. He views the nation of Zimbabwe as his own personal fiefdom. All other Zimbabweans, other than a few cronies, he views as idiots. He is the superior and chosen one. Mugabe cares only about Mugabe. All the murders and mayhem in the country do not bother him one bit. It is only when the populace rises up and eventually storms State House that Zimbabwe will be free of this evil demagogue.
July 16th, 2008 21:38
Dear Sokwanele,
Sadly I could not see the video as it said it was no longer available – plese would you try to get it working again.
Keep up the good work!
Regards,
David Coltart
July 17th, 2008 07:30
Brilliant use of song and images.
I’m sure Kristofferson & Joplin would fully approve!
July 18th, 2008 16:57
Some one could perhaps make a CD, send proceeds
to a good Zim cause.
here are a couple more possibilities,
The first with credit to Peter Sarsted and Michael Trapido.
The second with credit to Dire Straits and me
We need to keep up the lighter side!
WHERE DO YOU GO TO MUGABE?
You talk like Adolf Hitler
And you dance like a tyrant gone spare
Your clothes are all made in London
And there are diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are
You live in a big fancy mansion
Off the Butcher’s Park, Harare
Where you keep up your murderous records
As a friend of the bourgeois, yes you do
But where do you go to Mugabe
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I’ve looked for your people, they’re dead.
I’ve seen all your qualifications
That you got from a distant land
And the lifeblood you stole from your people
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does
When you go on your summer vacation
You escape to somewhere with Grace
With your carefully designed thoughtless antics
You destroy what’s left of your place, yes you do
And when the blood falls you’re found in South Africa
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don’t
But where do you go to Mugabe
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I’ve looked for your people, they’re dead.
Your name, it is heard in high places
The world hears calls for your head
They want you to be tried as a criminal
And you think it’s just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha
They say that when you are buried
It will be as a hated despot
But they don’t realise where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn
But where do you go to Mugabe
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I’ve looked for your people, they’re dead.
Do you remember the back streets of Salisbury
With children given to play
All touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try
So look into my face Robert Mugabe
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
Because you will eternally bear scars, deep inside, yes you will
I know where you go to Mugabe
When you’re alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
Sheer terror for when you join your dead.
(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)
(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na)
Ageing Drummer Boy Mugabe
I am just an ageing drummer boy
In the wars I used to play
I’ve called the tune to many a tough decision
I’m just a wild criminal
I’m fading away
Father please hear my confession
I’ve legalised robbery
I’ve called it belief
I have run with the money
I have a head like a thief
I’ve rewritten economy
With my armies and my crooks
I’ve invented hunger and rewritten books
They can still hear my laughter
They can still hear my song
The man’s a pig
The man’s gone wrong
I am just an ageing drummer boy
In the wars I used to play
I’ve called the tune to many a tough decision
I’m just a wild criminal
I’m fading away
Father please hear my confession
I’ve legalised robbery
I’ve called it belief
I have run with the money
I have a head like a thief
I’ve rewritten economy
With my armies and my crooks
I’ve invented hunger and rewritten books
I’ve not tried to be meek
Not tried to be mild
I’ve spat like a woman
And sobbed like a child
I’ve hid behind walls
And striven for war
That I always have known
They can still hear my laughter
They can still hear my song
The man’s a pig
The man’s gone wrong
The mans a pig
The man’s too strong