| Bits of songs and broken drums
|
| Are all he could recall
|
| So he spoke to me In a bastard tongue
|
| Carried on the silence of the guns
|
| It’s been a long long time
|
| since they first came
|
| And marched through our village
|
| They taught us to forget our past
|
| And live the future in their image
|
| They said
|
| 'You should learn to speak a little bit of English
|
| Don’t be scared of a suit and tie.
|
| Learn to walk in the dreams of the foreigner
|
| -- I am a Third World Child
|
| The Outworld’s dreams are the currency
|
| That grip the city streets
|
| I live them out
|
| But I have my own
|
| Hidden somewhere deep inside of me In between my father’s fields
|
| And the citadels of the rule
|
| Lies a no-man's land which I must cross
|
| To find my stolen jewel.
|
| They said
|
| 'You should learn to speak a little bit of English
|
| Maybe practise birth control
|
| Keep away from controversial politics
|
| So to save my third world soul
|
| They said
|
| 'You should learn to speak a little bit of English
|
| Don’t be scared of a suit and tie.
|
| Learn to walk in the dreams of the foreigner
|
| -- I am a Third World Child
|
| Wo ilanga lobunzima
|
| Nalo liyashona
|
| Ukuthini asazi
|
| Musa Ukukhala
|
| Mntanami
|
| Bits of songs and broken drums
|
| Are all he could recall
|
| But the future calls his name
|
| Out loud
|
| Carried on the violence of the guns |