When the white man went to
Africa
With a briefcase in his hand
A pristine
Bible held in a cup
As a black man held the land
Now the black man holds the
Bible
To see his land is gone
Realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white clown
Who carved out the continent
like an operating room
Friar
Rosa,
Reverend
Ham, a living stone I presume
Fire and brimstone in their soul,
a book shot in their belt
The good book caught a bullet,
left the hand the white man dealt
In
East
Africa they called you boy, in the
West just plain gossip
And you realized,
Lord, the
Lord is the
White
Tom
When the
Scotsman went to the
Caribbean with his little
Honda boat
He stepped ashore and took the young
man tightly by the throat
Any man who sleeps with mine, to
Hades they'll be gone
And you realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white clown
And as he taught them every single verse,
to old amazing grace
Betting, bouts of kill, and bruiser banter,
perfectly in place
Fire and brimstone in their soul,
and buckshot in their belt
The good book caught a bullet,
that's the hand the white man dealt
In
East
Africa they called it war, in the
West just plain gossip
And you realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white cop
When the white folk started singing,
they only did in solemn prayer
Not so pop some neighbors did,
for spirits take them there
Now the gospel singer, she plays the clubs,
and this old man cleans the john
When you realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white con
Blind
Boy
Fuller,
Howlin'
Wolf, and all the bluesmen gone
All we've got to show for it is
just throwin' it number one
Flying brimstone in their soul,
a buckshot in their belt
The good boy caught a bullet,
that's the hand the white man dealt
In
East
Africa, they called it war
In the
West, just plain gossip
And you realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white cunt
When the white man started singing
He put fin gers straight in the air
He wouldn't play a song of style
That might risk his career
Previously, a slave would trade
his freedom for the chance
To get off board and follow white men,
do a song or dance
Now the whole world's screaming, I repeat,
that it's lighter than a swan
And finally you realize, the
Lord's a blue icon
Of
Jim
Crow, the minstrel show,
the whole of history
You think you'll make it up to them
with a touch of harpery
Fire and brimstone in their soul,
buckshot in their bell
Your good book or the bullet,
let your hand the white man dealt
In
East
Africa they called you boy, in the
West just plain gossip
And you realize the
Lord, the
Lord is a white con
Thank