Would you knock a man down if you don't like the cut of his clothes
|
Could you put a man away if you don't want to hear what he knows
|
Well it's happening right here people dying of fear by the droves
|
And I know most of you
|
Either don't believe it's true,
|
Or else you don't know what to do
|
Or maybe I'm singing about you,
|
Who knows.
|
It's incredibly sick, you can feel it, as across the land it flows
|
Prejudice is slick when it's a word game, it festers and grows,
|
Move along quick, it furthers one to have somewhere to go
|
You can feel it as it's rumblin'
|
Let emotions keep a tumblin'
|
Then as cities start to crumblin'
|
Mostly empty bellies grumblin'
|
Here we go
|
People see somebody different fear is the first reaction shown
|
Then they think they've got him licked the barbaric hunt begins and they move in slow
|
A human spirit is devoured the remains left to carrion crow
|
I was told that life is change
|
And yet history remains,
|
Does it always stay the same
|
Do we shrug it off and say
|
Only God knows
|
By and by, somebody usually goes down to the ghetto
|
Try and help but they don't know why folks treat them cold
|
And the rich keep getting richer and the rest of us just keep getting old.
|
You see one must have a mission
|
In order to be a good Christian
|
If you don't you will be missing
|
High Mass or the evening show
|
And the well fed masters reap the harvests of the polluted seeds they've sown,
|
Smug and self-righteous they bitch about people they owe,
|
And you can't prove them wrong, they're so God damn sure they know
|
I have seen these things with my very own eyes and defended my battered soul,
|
It must be too tough to die,
|
American propaganda, South African lies
|
Will not force me to take up arms, that's my enemies' pride,
|
Ands I won't fight by his rules that's foolishness besides,
|
His ignorance is gonna do him in and nobody's gonna cry,
|
Because his children they are growing up
|
And plainly tired of putting up
|
With bigots and their silver cups
|
They're fed up, they might throw up
|
On you
|
|
-----------------
|
Word Game
|
Stephen Stills |