(*) Bob Dylan
A bullet from the back of a bushTook Medgar Evers' bloodA finger fired the trigger to his nameA handle hid out in the darkA hand set the sparkTwo eyes took the aimBehind a man's brainBut he can't be blamedHe's only a pawn in their game
A South politician preaches to the poor white man"You got more than the blacks, don't complainYou're better than them, you been born with white skin, " they explainAnd the Negro's nameIs used, it is plainFor the politician's gainAs he rises to fameAnd the poor white remainsOn the caboose of the trainBut it ain't him to blameHe's only a pawn in their game
The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paidAnd the marshals and cops get the sameBut the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a toolHe's taught in his schoolFrom the start by the ruleThat the laws are with himTo protect his white skinTo keep up his hateSo he never thinks straight'Bout the shape that he's inBut it ain't him to blameHe's only a pawn in their game
From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracksAnd the hoofbeats pound in his brainAnd he's taught how to walk in a packShoot in the backWith his fist in a clinchTo hang and to lynchTo hide 'neath the hoodTo kill with no painLike a dog on a chainHe ain't got no nameBut it ain't him to blameHe's only a pawn in their game
Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caughtThey lowered him down as a kingBut when the shadowy sun sets on the oneThat fired the gunHe'll see by his graveOn the stone that remainsCarved next to his nameHis epitaph plainOnly a pawn in their game
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario