|
He's drinkin' supermarket cider
|
In a doorway in the town
|
And he's shouting 'bout the government
|
And how they let him down
|
He's got a sister lives in Brixton
|
Always tried to do her best
|
Yet she winds up broke and shafted
|
Just the same as all the rest
|
|
He's got a torn and greasy greatcoat
|
And a New York Yankees vest
|
And some strongly held opinions
|
That he must get off his chest
|
Yet his friends don't think about him
|
They all gave him up for dead
|
And they all got real embarrassed
|
About the problems with his head
|
|
Chorus:
|
|
Shout it out! (Shout it out with me)
|
Shout it out! (It's a mystery)
|
Shout it out! ('cause what I can't see)
|
Why he's invisible to them
|
Yet so obvious to me
|
|
He make his home in cardboard boxes
|
And the pigeons are his friends
|
And you cross over to avoid him
|
Never try to make amends
|
For the way that he's been treated
|
And we all must share the blame
|
And we never look him in the eye
|
And never ask his name
|
|
I thought we were past this stage
|
Never in this day and age
|
These things are still going on
|
Tell me where did we go wrong
|
I thought we had changed for good
|
Maybe I misunderstood
|
Does our new and caring nation
|
Only care for politicians
|
Those that have will all do well
|
All the rest can go to hell
|
|
(Chorus x2)
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
ALL THE REST
|
| Stiff Little Fingers |
