| «Tom»
|
| I’ve read this page a thousand times
|
| It’s the only way that I could find to carry on
|
| «Say. |
| Isn’t it a good life over here?
|
| And can you catch another can of beer?
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| So sharp, so clear
|
| You bet! |
| And a good kaffir I’ve never met
|
| But you know this heat will make them sweat!»
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| Tin wall, hot flesh
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| Oh man, I’m too full of hate to shake your hand
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| And don’t you ever call me your friend
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| He’ll take this land
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel?
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel?
|
| Big game; |
| four begging children by the train
|
| The Afrikaner does the same
|
| Then gets back on again
|
| And who’s she?
|
| «They call he Black Revolution Eve»
|
| On the master’s land she sowed some seeds
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| Today she leaves
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel?
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel?
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel?
|
| Did you try to imagine the hate
|
| That a young boy could feel? |