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Ich denk mal, der ist tot...

ChrE / 14 Antworten / Flachansicht Nickles

Hallo!

.. der Kim Jong-iI. Oder hängt im Koma an irgendwelchen Schläuchen.

Nach dem Lesen dieser Nachricht:

http://www.spiegel.de/politik/ausland/0,1518,589859,00.html

glaube ich, dass es nicht allzu viele Gründe gibt, die
Grenze dicht zu machen.

Selber verfolge ich sehr interessiert die Nachrichten die es
aus Nordkorea gibt. China und Kuba sind ja eigentlich keine
richtigen kommunistischen Länder mehr. Es ist das letzte Land,
in dem der Anachronismus regiert (diktiert).

Hoffentlich dauert es für die Leute, die dort leben nicht
mehr so lange, bis der Staat krachen geht. Möge die DDR hier
ein Vorbild sein. Ich erinnere mich noch gut, was vor 19 Jahren
um diese Zeit hier so lief.

Gruss

ChrE

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Nee, der lebt..! ... hulk 8150
charlie62 REPI „ Auch Nordkore ist keine kommunistisches Land! Das ist ein mafiöser...“
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Im Übrigen gab es im Sinne der Urväter der kommunistischen Idee noch nie ein wirklich kommunistisches Land.

On a summer day
In the month of May
A burly bum came hiking
Down a shady lane
Through the sugar cane
He was looking for his liking
As he roamed along
He sang a song
Of the land of milk and honey
Where a bum can stay
For many a day
And he won't need any money

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


There's a lake of gin
We can both jump in
And the handouts grow on bushes
In the new-mown hay
We can sleep all day
And the bars all have free lunches
Where the mail train stops
And there ain't no cops
And the folks are tender-hearted
Where you never change your socks
And you never throw rocks
And your hair is never parted

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


Oh, a farmer and his son,
They were on the run
To the hay field they were bounding
Said the bum to the son,
"Why don't you come
To that big rock candy mountain?"
So the very next day
They hiked away,
The mileposts they were counting
But they never arrived
At the lemonade tide
On the big rock candy mountain

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


One evening as the sun went down
And the jungle fires were burning,
Down the track came a hobo hiking,
He said, "Boys, I'm not turning
I'm heading for a land that's far away
Beside the crystal fountain
I'll see you all this coming fall
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
It's a land that's fair and bright,
The handouts grow on bushes
And you sleep out every night.
The boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
You never change your socks
And little streams of alkyhol
Come trickling down the rocks
O the shacks all have to tip their hats
And the railway bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew
And ginger ale too
And you can paddle
All around it in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


In the Big Rock Candy Mountain
The cops have wooden legs
The bulldogs all have rubber teeth
And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs
The box-cars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
I'm bound to go
Where there ain't no snow
Where the sleet don't fall
And the winds don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain


In the Big Rock Candy Mountain,
The jails are made of tin.
You can slip right out again,
As soon as they put you in.
There ain't no short-handled shovels,
No axes, saws nor picks,
I'm bound to stay
Where you sleep all day,
Where they hung the jerk
That invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Oh the buzzin' of the bees
In the cigarette trees
Near the soda water fountain
At the lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
On the big rock candy mountain

Der erste, der ein Stück Land eingezäunt hatte und es sich einfallen ließ zu sagen: -Das ist mein!- und der Leute fand, die einfältig genug waren, ihm zu glauben, war der wahre Gründer der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft. Wie viele Verbrechen, Kriege, Morde, wie viel Not und Elend und wie viele Schrecken hätte derjenige dem Menschengeschlecht erspart, der die Pfähle herausgerissen oder den Graben zugeschüttet und seinen Mitmenschen zugerufen hätte: -Hütet euch, auf diesen Betrüger zu hören; ihr seid verloren, wenn ihr vergesst, dass die Früchte allen gehören und die Erde niemandem.- (Jean-Jacques Rousseau)
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