Gone Songs - Track Three - The Pogues

Some fight for money, some fight for fame

Some because they're desperate or maybe just insane

But Joe Louis fought like no one else alive

The Brown Bomber fought for nothing less than pride

He whupped 'em all, every mother's son

Twelve victories from '39 and now it was 1941

He'd knock 'em down as fast as they would come

And June was to be another month, another bum

Take all of Ireland and compress it to a man

Make him big but fast with red bricks for hands

Then give him a name that is cumhachtach and strong

Too fookin' right, mate, the one 'n only Billy Conn!

Billy needed some plan to fight the legendary Joe

"Hit and Run" he'd said, was the way to beat this foe

Joe Louis had heard it all before and knew it to be shit

"Everybody has a plan," he'd say, "until they get hit."

But Billy had the feet and heart and more than little luck

Twelve rounds he danced around the man and never did get stuck

And all the punches he landed, not so hard, but in rallies

Would mean certain victory when the scorecards were tallied

"Stay away from him, Billy," his corner did say

"You've got this in your pocket, you'll win the day!"

But Billy saw The Champ was having a hard time breathing

And figured one more good round was all he'd be needing

To put the legendary Joe Louis down on the canvas for a nap

So he stopped running to trade punches and his corner said, "crap"

Two seconds left in the thirteenth, Joe connected, and it was over

Billy hit the mat like he'd just fallen off the white cliffs of Dover

It was the bout of the century, the greatest boxing match ever

Fought by a fearsome champion and an Irishman clever

Enough to be the best in the world for 12 rounds that day

Later when asked about the decision Billy Conn did say

"What's the use of being Irish if you can't be thick!"

End

A cousin of mine chose Fairytale of New York to be the last song played at his wedding reception. Sure, he'd married an Irish girl, but still... it wasn't anywhere close to Christmas and watching his ultraconservative, Pentecost family react to "cheap lousy faggot".... Poor choice. I suspect many poor choices are made while listening to the Pogues.

***

Alternative radio wasn't a thing back in 80s Kansas, so I had never heard any of their songs, but I purchased Rum Sodomy based entirely upon the title and a four star review in Rolling Stone magazine. Holy shit. I was maybe seventeen and had never been outside the central time zone. Hell, a clumsy shop teacher could've counted the number of American states I'd been in on one mangled hand. Therefore, listening to the Pogues was, to me, like traveling the world; like visiting many foreign countries and discovering they're all just as marginalized and shabby as your own shithole home town. A valid perspective that has, regrettably, been proven true time and time again.