Following up on Geoff Aung's piece, my favorite political records are not witty allegories or cryptic paintings. They’re unsubtle and uncool, and heart-on-sleeve or totally angry about something that actually happened (mostly). Read my list of ten or so and then post some of your picks.

“Bonzo Goes To Bitburg,” Ramones (1985). Liberal rage, Jewish rage, New York rage, punk rage, whatever, Joey is totally pissed off about Reagan’s 1985 visit to a cemetery where Nazi SS storm troopers are buried. In fact, he’s pissed about the whole Reagan presidency. Harmonies and glockenspiel on top of loud punk guitars and Joey’s venomous vocals equal an exhilarating three minute thrill ride. Your brain will hang upside down.

“The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll”(1964) and “George Jackson” (1971), Bob Dylan. A couple of real people get killed, race is involved, and Bob’s on the scene. “Hattie Carroll” is a tearjerker – Bob even tells you precisely when to cry – about a Maryland society brat who, in 1963, slams his cane down on a hotel kitchen worker. Ms. Carroll had 10 children. She deserves dignity; her family deserves justice; they get neither. Meanwhile, in 1960, George Jackson, age 19, is locked up for robbing a gas station of $71. He never gets out. In 1971, he and two other inmates at Soledad Prison in California are accused of murdering a guard. Before Jackson can stand trial, guards kill him. According to Bob, “They were scared of his love.” He adds, “Sometimes I think this whole world is one big prison yard. Some of us are prisoners. The rest of us are guards.” Not sure what all that means – sounds kind of dopey – but the performance is piercing. You want the acoustic one (45 vinyl, Dutch 2003 CD, or bootleg), not the “big band version.”

“When Will We B Paid,” Prince (2004). Not the syth-laden b-side, but the straightforward acoustic guitar version from last year’s tour. Remember the “Slave” notation painted on his face during his dust-up with Warner Records? In 2004, grinning, he asked for more, singing the Staple Singers song in front of mixed houses: When will we be paid for the work we’ve done?

“Piss Factory,” Patti Smith (1974). Really bad working conditions and bad-attituded coworkers and she’s got to get out of there and get on the train to New York.

“God Save the Queen,” Sex Pistols (1976). The beginning of the end for the rotting Windsor house and a classic expression of hopeless youthfulness. Cynical, packaged anger, but biting, bilious, and brilliant anyway. And where d’ya think we got the idea for our Campus Progress ad?

“Tramp the Dirt Down,” Elvis Costello (1989). Regarding the class-warfare-waging PM Margaret Thatcher, Elvis is direct: He looks forward to her death.

“Give Ireland Back to the Irish,” Paul McCartney, and “Luck of the Irish,” John Lennon (both 1972). After dueling in an earlier pair of songs about who sucked worse, John and Paul each release post-Bloody Sunday songs (Paul first), about how their native country was screwing their ancestral one. Paul’s song is pretty pedestrian and – surprise! – sappy, but he gets an A for earnestness. John’s has a beautiful melody with some real vinegar in the singing, especially in various demos that float around, although Yoko’s chirping in the middle is … annoying.

“Washington Bullets,” The Clash (1981). Not a tirade against Wes Unseld and Elvin Hayes, but a patient but firm, tropically-infused recounting of various acts of U.S., um, interference in Latin American. Concludes by praising the Carter Administration for staying out of Nicaragua, and then slamming Russian, Chinese, and British imperialism.

“Don’t Be A Drop-Out,” James Brown (1966). Pretty detailed story about some guy who didn’t finish school. James suggests you listen to that loserish guidance counselor: “Well, kids, stay in school; Don’t be no drag; Let the fool advise you; And stay out of that bag.” After all, “Without an education, you might as well be dead.”