Someone has jacked Santa's sleigh in the cold , hard streets of St. Albans.  He's got gifts to deliver to expectant children around the world. What's a Santa to do? Can Christmas be saved?

The Hanging Bandits are a London based alternative rock act. This song is a tribute to the towns we hail from and the over-drawn, credit-ruining reality of Christmas in most working class towns. If you like it, if it makes you laugh, nod your head or smile, please share it around and spread the Yuletide joy. 

Merry Christmas,
The Hanging Bandits

Lyrics:

Too much time and too little consumption
barely got any disposable income
and maybe occasionally I waste it, I know
at the end of the week on the weariest bones
stumble for shelter around 1am
blurry and waved on December nights
It's Christmas time 
and money's tight
We might have to jack Santa's sleigh tonight

See the shops sparkle on reveal
to get your attention, got your attention
I gotta have it, take cheque or credit
spreading the spirit via the art of suggestion
Eleven bags, maybe count that twice
we're buying ourselves a branded new life
like the ones on the advert
with candles for dinner
four types of meat
we better get cutlery 

Make the girls all smiles with pearls
see the wife come to life with a brand new purse
there's a hearse which is one day meant for me
so December better be Christmassy
So much junk it makes the vagrants smile
as we simply forget we could do without 
it's not a lie if you keep the police out
run out of credit, but what a fucking Christmas!

It's Christmas time
Money's tight
We might have to jack Santa's Sleigh tonight

Here we be, at the desk of my jail cell
January sales make brick work cold
moulted flight feather brings message via quill
it's completely ridiculous
but how the wife can reach me now

It's Christmas time
Moneys tight
We might have to jack Santa's sleigh tonight

Grab your matching jumper 
it's time to take this photo
Now is the time to pray
and for other people to pay
Stumble for shelter around 1am
blurry and waved on December nights

It's Christmas time
Money's tight
We might have to jack Santa's sleigh tonight

Broke Christmas

Shipwreck & Forgetful Skies

We threw this one together in about an hour and recorded it there and then. Just a little experiment really. Share it around if you like it.

The Ghost Of James Thomson

The men sit on benches
they gather in parallel lines
while the speaker on the podium preaches
your dreams are necessary lies

They turn and talk amongst themselves
they got no sense of what they lost
and if they look out the windows
civilization is rubble and dust

Have to question each other
did we take in more mud than wine
Convinced themselves they were drunk and clean
with skills they’d practiced most their lives

My mind rattled against the window
A rabid animal for that wilderness
A home away from pictures
A moment in a separate stream

I exit at the next stop
Can’t keep my head that clouded
Let them congratulate themselves
I’ll try locate the wounded

But on the pavement
I am myself headed for decline
Still too weak to raise a glass
To my most expectant times

As the buses go past
It’s her picture and my regret
I covered over her upturned arms
And put my name across her chest

Journey To The Centre

Hana  & James gave us shelter in the rain 
All our sleeping bags were fucked
but we joined their jam and shared a buzz 
talking literature, dreams and drugs
until the first light of dawn erupts
one of the best show we've played 
was courtesy of your hosting 
around a crackling fire place and food plate

Invited us for coffee and tea 
wanted to hear some vocal harmonies 
didn't watch any art together 
so back to the yurt for a smoke and a chat
about movement and time 
and this whole thing collapsing 
cheers for the apples, bananas and dates
we thank you for the kindness 
you showed to these strangers
and the histories provided, 
our stories divide

But these moments are ageless 
good people shouldn't be this beautiful
you successfully sold us a lifestyle 
faster than education ever could
we wish you and Gato the best on your travels
and hope our paths cross again.

Hana & James

Bedroom Singles Vol. 1 Journey To The Centre

Postcards From The Colonies

The Hanging Bandits being interviewed by Ron of Two Lochs Radio.  We talk about being a small band living in the outskirts of London and our upcoming album The Captains Last words.  Located in Gairloch, Scottish Highlands.

The Hanging Bandits on Two Lochs Radio, Gairloch.

Lyrics: 

Sitting in the office
holding a pen erect on the table
pressed firm between my fingers
with wet ink toward the ceiling
And I'm about ten seconds
from headbutting the c**t

Can I get overtime then?
With my head nailed to the counter
would productivity even dip?

One less staff room conversation
about work or interior design or
Tales from a Half Alive H.R Man
his draught beer festival weekend
and his weather complaints
and his back and his knees ache
I swear I'm turning impotent just listening

Reminds me of an article
about some Alpert era hippie who
figured he'd achieve higher consciousness
if he drilled a hole in his skull
Trepanning for Gold

And staring at the ink spot
I wonder if this is what he meant

Trepanning For Gold [Single]

Trepanning For Gold

Alex Laurance - Vocals, Guitar & Lyrics
Santi Wais - Vocals, Guitar & Bass 
Andy Fletcher - Bass & Lyrics
Tom Saxby-Farncombe - Keyboards & Backing Vocals

Bookings: thehangingbandits@gmail.com

We are based in Hertfordshire. Our passion is to write songs that will intrigue your mind.

We believe in musical human interaction. 
We hope to interest you with our point of view of this culture that we are immersed in. 

The Hanging Bandits.

The Hanging Bandits

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