| The white dog of the farm still breeds
|
| She’s off her leash to tear flesh and teach
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| You think you’ve heard it all before
|
| Well, here’s once more, we’re all at war
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| Blood in the streets, our eternal river
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| I know the killer, he counts my silver
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| They ambushed them behind the reeds
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| These are our seeds, white dog still breeds
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| They say, «Buy when there’s blood in the streets
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| Even if the blood is your own»
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| So they employed men far away
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| To turn against their home
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| Centuries in the distant mist
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| But it’s not a dream
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| No, it ain’t no dream, it’s all too real
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| How long until this river of blood congeals?
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| And eulogies poured from the stage
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| But nothing changed, the dog was caged
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| And white bread artists won’t even look at you
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| When they know it’s true, what you gonna do?
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| Thought I heard some woman screaming
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| And I sat up in my bed
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| And I went over to the window
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| And I saw him in the cold street, lying dead
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| Oh, please tell me, you academics
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| How do you wake up from a non-dream?
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| No, it ain’t no dream, it’s all too real
|
| How long until this river of blood congeals?
|
| Bum, bum, bum
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| Sent a letter to my congressman
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| The Ku Klux Klan, from my pierced hands
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| They sent me back an Apple phone
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| A fine-hair comb and a bell tolled
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| Bum, bum, bum
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| The phone rang once and the line went dead
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| All blood runs red, white pups still bred
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| Bum, bum, bum |