|
She washed her hands 300 times |
|
But still they're dripping red. |
|
We caught her in the pauper's pit, |
|
She stole the prince's head... |
|
Cursing 'blasphemy'... |
|
O mercy me... |
|
He staggered like a chicken. |
|
They lynched him; |
|
They left him flinching. |
|
Running scared... |
|
Took their seats...they kept on knitting. |
|
God bless the noble savage |
|
As he swaggers |
|
As he sweats |
|
He's making bets on who is next- |
|
He don't care about the colour... |
|
So many here to choose from... |
|
(First they rounded up the reds |
|
But I'm not red so... |
|
Then they rounded up the blacks |
|
But I'm not black so... |
|
Then they rounded up the gypsies |
|
And the junkies and donkeys. |
|
Now I'm scared to whistle 'swanee' |
|
'Cause they'll ask me for my spit...) |
|
It's the garden that we walk in |
|
And it's dying...so we cut it down. |
|
We're drowning now. |
|
There's no way out. |
|
We all fall down. |
