| You have anticipated all the players
|
| Your silent judgement growin'
|
| And from time to time you pace the floor
|
| Because you are a-knowin'
|
| Yet you cannot stop your sowin'
|
| All the stars that symbolise where you’re goin'
|
| And your heavy rains keep growin'
|
| Hey, come on, you’ve got something better to do.
|
| You have hidden your face from the people,
|
| And to them you keep on denyin'
|
| That far, far away across the sea,
|
| For no reason their sons are dyin'
|
| While it’s Vietnam you’re buyin'
|
| Among all your conservatives a-sighin'
|
| And all your murderous lyin'
|
| Hey, it’s me who’s defyin'
|
| Hey, come on, you’ve got something better to do.
|
| What good are all those documents?
|
| Those well-kept worthless scrolls;
|
| When the hand you bit turns and slaps your face,
|
| The hands you tried to mold,
|
| And they leave you out in the cold,
|
| With your pockets full of gold,
|
| Yet you cannot pay the toll
|
| Of the brave and the bold who are shoutin'
|
| Hey, come on, you’ve got something better to do. |