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Friday, May 26, 2006

Desmond Dekker 1941-2006 

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.

// posted by schultz @ 11:30 PM


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