The Death Of Emmett Till
"Twas down in Mississippi no so long ago,
When a young boy from Chicago town stepped through a Southern door.
This boy's dreadful tragedy I can still remember well,
The color of his skin was black and his name was Emmett Till.
Some men they dragged him to a barn and there they beat him up.
They said they had a reason, but I can't remember what.
They tortured him and did some evil things too evil to repeat.
There was screaming sounds inside the barn, there was laughing sounds out on the street.
Then they rolled his body down a gulf amidst a bloody red rain
And they threw him in the waters wide to cease his screaming pain.
The reason that they killed him there, and I'm sure it ain't no lie,
Was just for the fun of killin' him and to watch him slowly die.
And then to stop the United States of yelling for a trial,
Two brothers they confessed that they had killed poor Emmett Till.
But on the jury there were men who helped the brothers commit this awful crime,
And so this trial was a mockery, but nobody seemed to mind.
I saw the morning papers but I could not bear to see
The smiling brothers walkin' down the courthouse stairs.
For the jury found them innocent and the brothers they went free,
While Emmett's body floats the foam of a Jim Crow southern sea.
If you can't speak out against this kind of thing, a crime that's so unjust,
Your eyes are filled with dead men's dirt, your mind is filled with dust.
Your arms and legs they must be in shackles and chains, and your blood it must refuse to flow,
For you let this human race fall down so God-awful low!
This song is just a reminder to remind your fellow man
That this kind of thing still lives today in that ghost-robed Ku Klux Klan.
But if all of us folks that thinks alike, if we gave all we could give,
We could make this great land of ours a greater place to live.
Похожие новости.
The Tower
A great lord came walking through the forest one morning with a weapon in his hand; Rich was his castle, he lacked for nothing, but killing was his plan; When a white bird flew
La petite r?colte du jardinier
La ptite r?colte du jardinier. C'etait un de ces ?t?s o? l'herbe avait transpir?e, Ou l'on attendait la ptite r?colte du jardinier, Nos villages savait comment faire, Pour que le petit un jour devienne
Ой Вигострю Товариша
Вигострю товариша, Засуну в халяву Та піду шукати правди І тієї слави. Ой піду я не лугами І не берегами. А піду я не шляхами, А понад шляхами. Та спитаю в жидовина В багатого пана, У шляхтича поганого В поганім жупані. І
You Got Nothing On Me
Demons, killers, all of your evil You got nothing on, you got nothing on me Fascists, warriors no matter what you'll say You don't understand, you don't understand me And you got, you got
Le Mot De Passe
On peut penser que d'ici l? Le monde aura chang? de nom Et que rien ne r?sistera Au temps qui passe, de toute fa?on On peut s'attendre ? retrouver Un peu de toi dans mes