|
As the snow flies |
|
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin' |
|
A poor little baby child is born |
|
In the ghetto |
|
And his mama cries |
|
'cause if there's one thing that she don't need |
|
it's another hungry mouth to feed |
|
In the ghetto |
|
People, don't you understand |
|
the child needs a helping hand |
|
or he'll grow to be an angry young man some day |
|
Take a look at you and me, |
|
are we too blind to see, |
|
do we simply turn our heads |
|
and look the other way |
|
Well the world turns |
|
and a hungry little boy with a runny nose |
|
plays in the street as the cold wind blows |
|
In the ghetto |
|
And his hunger burns |
|
so he starts to roam the streets at night |
|
and he learns how to steal |
|
and he learns how to fight |
|
In the ghetto |
|
Then one night in desperation |
|
a young man breaks away |
|
He buys a gun, steals a car, |
|
tries to run, but he don't get far |
|
And his mama cries |
|
As a crowd gathers 'round an angry young man |
|
face down on the street with a gun in his hand |
|
In the ghetto |
|
As her young man dies, |
|
on a cold and gray Chicago mornin', |
|
another little baby child is born |
|
In the ghetto |
