| Would you knock a man down
|
| If you don’t like the cut of his clothes
|
| Could you put a man away
|
| If you don’t want to hear what he knows
|
| Well, it’s happening right here
|
| People dying of fear by the droves
|
| And I know most of you
|
| Either don’t believe it’s true
|
| Or else you don’t know what to do
|
| Or maybe I’m singing about you
|
| Who knows
|
| It’s incredibly sick, you can feel it
|
| As across the land it flows
|
| Prejudice is slick when it’s a word game
|
| It festers and grows
|
| Move along quick, it furthers one
|
| To have somewhere to go
|
| You can feel it as it’s rumblin'
|
| Let emotions keep a tumblin'
|
| Then as cities start to crumblin'
|
| Mostly empty bellies grumblin'
|
| Here we go
|
| People see somebody different
|
| Fear is the first reaction shown
|
| Then they think they’ve got him licked
|
| The barbaric hunt begins and they move in slow
|
| A human spirit is devoured
|
| The remains left to carrion crow
|
| I was told that life is change
|
| And yet history remains
|
| Does it always stay the same
|
| Do we shrug it off and say
|
| Only God knows
|
| By and by somebody usually goes
|
| Down to the ghetto try and help
|
| But they don’t know why folks treat them cold
|
| And the rich keep getting richer
|
| And the rest of us just keep getting old
|
| You see one must have a mission
|
| In order to be a good Christian
|
| If you don’t you will be missing
|
| High Mass or the evening show
|
| And the well fed masters reap the harvests
|
| Of the polluted seeds they’ve sown
|
| Smug and self-righteous they bitch about people they owe
|
| And you can’t prove them wrong
|
| They’re so God damn sure they know
|
| I have seen these things with my very own eyes
|
| And defended my battered soul
|
| It must be too tough to die
|
| American propaganda, South African lies
|
| Will not force me to take up arms, that’s my enemies' pride
|
| And I won’t fight by his rules that’s foolishness besides
|
| His ignorance is gonna do him in and nobody’s gonna cry
|
| Because his children they are growing up
|
| With bigots and their silver cups they’re fed up
|
| They might throw up on you
|
| Alright, ooh |