Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Winter Of The Long Hot Summer, artist - The Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy.
Date of issue: 31.12.1991
Song language: English
The Winter Of The Long Hot Summer |
It all seemed so idiotic |
All the accusations of unpatriotic |
The fall we’ll always remember |
Capitulating silence election November |
Before the winter |
Of the long hot summer |
Somewhere in the desert |
We raised the oil pressure |
And waited for the weather |
To get much better |
For the new wind to blow in the storm |
We tried to remember the history in the region |
The French foreign legion, Imperialism |
Peter O’Toole and hate the Ayatollah |
Were all we learned in school |
Not that we gave Hussein five billion |
Not of our new bed partner the Syrian |
And of course no mention |
Of the Palestine situation |
It was amazing how they steamrolled |
They said eighty percent approval |
But there was no one that I knew polled |
No one had a reason for being in the Gulf |
We waited for Congress to speak up |
Illegal build up |
But no one would wake up |
Our representatives were Milli Vanilli’s |
For corporate Dallas Cowboy Beverly Hillbillies |
With perfect timing |
The politicians rhyming their sentiments |
So nicely oil, gold and sand |
My sediments precisely… |
We regretfully support the lunacy |
I’m afraid there is no time for more scrutiny |
National unity preserve our community |
Teflon election opportunities |
Were in profundant abundance |
On January second the Bush administration |
Announced a recession had stricken the Nation |
The highest quarterly earnings in ten years |
Were posted by Chevron |
Meanwhile a budget was placed in our hands |
As the deadline in the sand came to an end |
So much for the peace dividend |
One billion a day is what we spent |
And our grandchildren will pay for it 'til the end |
When schools are unfunded |
And kids don’t get their diplomas |
They get used for gun boat diplomacy |
Disproportionately black or brown we see |
Bullet catchers for the slave master |
Then the conservatives called up reservists |
To active service left families nervous |
But more importantly broke nine hundred a month |
But the check came late, army red tape you see |
This golden opportunity |
We watched the tube and read the newspaper |
The propaganda of the gas masked raper |
Was the proper slander to whip up the hatred |
The stage was lit and the lights were all faded |
The pilots in night vision goggles Kuwaited and |
Generals masturbated |
'Til the fifteenth two days later they invaded |
Not a single t.v. |
station expressed dissension or |
Hardly made mention to the censorship of information |
From our kinder and gentler nation |
Blinder and mentaler retardation |
Disorientation |
The pilots said their bombs lit Baghdad |
Like a Christmas tree |
It was the Christian thing to do you see |
They didn’t mention any casualties |
No distinction between the real |
And the proxy |
Only football analogies |
We saw the bomb hole |
We watched the Super Bowl |
We saw the scud missile |
We watched Bud commercials |
We saw the yellow ribbons |
Saw pilots in prison |
We never saw films of the dead |
At eleven |
Angela Davis addressed the spectators |
And shouting above a rumbling generator said |
If they insist on bringing us down |
Then let’s shut the whole country down |
Marching through the downtown |
A hundred thousand became participants |
And we heard the drums of millions off in the distance |
Rushing through the cities |
Some of them did things that weren’t so pretty |
Most were there for primal scream therapy |
News men concentrated |
On the negative liked the jingoists more |
Peaceful protesters ended up on |
The cutting room floor |
Nintendo casualties of the ratings war |
More bombs dropped than in World War II |
Or in both Asian invasions |
New world order persuasion |
Business as usual for our nation |
Could you imagine a hundred fifty thousand dead |
The city of Stockton coffins locked in |
When we clocked in. Not to mention civilians |
The loss of life on both sides |
Pushed the limits of resilience |
The scent of blood in our nostrils |
Fuel of the fossil land of apostle |
The blackness that covered the sky |
Was not the only thing that |
Brought a tear to the eye or |
The taste of anger to the tongues |
Of those too young to remember |
Vietnam |
Is heroin better in a veteran’s mind |
Than the memory of the dying laying in a line |
Is it the smell or the shadows heaving and weeping |
That keeps the soldier from sleeping |
As he sings the orphan’s lullaby |
When the soldiers put down their bayonets |
The strings are chained to the marionettes |
Emir of Kuwait gets back in his jet |
We replace the dead with new cadets |
Will we hate those who did the shelling |
Or will we hate those who weren’t willing |
To do the killing |
When the leaders of the bald eagles come home to roost |
Will we sing a song of praise and indebtedness |
For our deliverance from evil? |
Or will we sing a song of sadness |
For the dreaded debt this mess |
Delivered us people? |