Marching down my street Right past my own church You beat your drums of hate Until your hands burst And the route you take through my neighbourhood Is a well planned route Baying for some blood, Woh some blood.
You could march down your own streets, But that’s now what you want There’s no point in that You need someone to taunt And the hate they feel Is beaten into them From their infancy, Drummed and drummed again Woh again
I have many friends, who come from your background But they see through hate and their own voice they’ve found Every summertime, we are under siege Every summertime, it’s the marching season siege Woh the siege, it’s the marching season siege Woh the siege, the siege, the siege, the siegeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
