In Australia, out middle of nowhere, in the bush, migrant workers from many nationalties, including Aussies who just steadily got drunk never said much, just soaked in yhe atmosphere, would gather at our half constructed timber and asbestos sheeting, tin roof house never finished, to dance and sing, play instruments and generally carry on like this all night long until other Aussie neighbours had enough of all the musical racket. We invited them to join the fun but they weren't happy and wanted to fight. 'War's over!' My POW father declared. 'We can be friends, drunk, eat, dance, sing' but they were angry and just stormed off in disgust at 'worst taking over Australia'. The migrants just kept partying on. My brother and I were the only children. We were bundled up under my father's old army great coat, as it was freezing cold with no electrify or heating in sub zero wintry conditions and we'd be wishing they'd all die off, so we could sleep, we were so tired. 'Maybe they'll die after he next song' I'd te him, being the older kid. But they just kept this up till sunrise and then went off to do hard manual labour splitting rocks in quarried and what not, in the blazing hot sun. They lived and worked like Trojans, for little pay, but never complained, despite their rotten hard lives, unlike migrants this era who are given so much for contributing nothing of any value, just endless trouble and then complain about racism, injustice etc in Australia.
Complimenti hai musicisti e' cantanti che suonano e' cantano queste canzoni popolari molisane e' abbruzzesi siete fantastici.
Super fantastici i musicisti e' i cantanti che suonano e' cantano queste canzoni abbruzzesi complimenti.
Volevo dire molisane complimenti sia quelli abbruzzesi che quelli molisane.
E' anche del milise fantastici.
😅bello viva il folcrore
In Australia, out middle of nowhere, in the bush, migrant workers from many nationalties, including Aussies who just steadily got drunk never said much, just soaked in yhe atmosphere, would gather at our half constructed timber and asbestos sheeting, tin roof house never finished, to dance and sing, play instruments and generally carry on like this all night long until other Aussie neighbours had enough of all the musical racket. We invited them to join the fun but they weren't happy and wanted to fight. 'War's over!' My POW father declared. 'We can be friends, drunk, eat, dance, sing' but they were angry and just stormed off in disgust at 'worst taking over Australia'. The migrants just kept partying on. My brother and I were the only children. We were bundled up under my father's old army great coat, as it was freezing cold with no electrify or heating in sub zero wintry conditions and we'd be wishing they'd all die off, so we could sleep, we were so tired. 'Maybe they'll die after he next song' I'd te him, being the older kid. But they just kept this up till sunrise and then went off to do hard manual labour splitting rocks in quarried and what not, in the blazing hot sun. They lived and worked like Trojans, for little pay, but never complained, despite their rotten hard lives, unlike migrants this era who are given so much for contributing nothing of any value, just endless trouble and then complain about racism, injustice etc in Australia.
Volevo dire molisane complimenti sia quelli abbruzzesi che quelli molisane.
E' anche del milise fantastici.