Jack Deelin went a walkin' Upon a market day From half mile outside the town on foot he made his way Once a week he had a job At the saleyards draftin' stock Half the price of the standard wage And a feed was what he got CHORUS Jack Deelin how we gonna win When we're guilty of their darkest crime Of bein' zipped up in Black skin? We livin' on the fringes Far below the standard line They say our heritage is dead and gone They bury it back in time We're exiled in the very land Of our ancestors and gods Pushed back across our hunting grounds And shot down like a dog There's genocide upon our child Our women were raped and beat The law'll slam you in a cell For just bein' on the street We're livin' in the river beds And in the urban slums They give us that tag of lazy cats That won't get off our bums They term us jet black or hybrid Well it matters nothin much We're black that's that we're third rate And they treatin' us as such They mail us welfare handouts And fed us on sheep guts They satisfied their conscience We won't bite the breast we suckTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
