Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir,So that every mouth can be fed.
Poor me, the Israelite.
Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone.
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde.
Poor me, the Israelite.
After a storm there must be a calm.
They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm.
Poor me, the Israelite.
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