Waiting For The Bus

My name is Gary Tyler, Louisiana-born
Shadow of the poplar tree on fields all ripe with corn
Sixteen years I counted on the rising of the sun
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home
Of all the Disunited States divided black and white
Louisiana taught me how to think and how to fight
Sixty of us kids aboard the number 91
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home

Bus was barely moving we were set upon and stopped
Watched 200 white boys throwing bottles, cans and rocks
Trapped and scared together there was nowhere we could run
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home
Boy outside the bus, an automatic in his hand
We heard a single shot and then we all just hit the ground
I never pulled a trigger and I never held a gun
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home

White boy lay there bleeding cops they searched the bus
Never found a thing to say that it was one of us
Took us down the station they were beating us for fun
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home
Gun produced from nowhere pinned the crime on me
A lynchmob for a jury meant they'd never set me free
Thirty years in prison for a crime I haven't done
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home

Waiting here the world has turned a thousand times or more
Stranded like the man who never knew they'd stopped the war
Waiting for the pardon but the pardon never comes
I'm just waiting for the bus to take me home.

Похожие новости.

Стихи Саши Черного, 1909 года, музыка: А. Васильев Хочу отдохнуть от сатиры, У лиры моей Есть тихо дрожащие, легкие звуки, Усталые руки На умные струны кладу, Пою и в такт головою киваю Хочу быть незлобным ягненком, Ребенком, Которого взрослые

[Chorus] I never wanted you to be my man I just needed company Don’t want to get dependent on Your time or who you spend it on But I lose it when you look at

Застрахуй, застрахуй братуху Застрахуй, хуй, хуй, застрахуй, хуй, Yo, мама родная, а что нам хулигагам надо? Немерянно бабок и еще столько же вдобавок Мы против войны, мы за диалог, Но если ты лох, сиди ровно

When I first met you on the roof You cought me in your web of youth But now I know the wicked truth It's much to late so what's the use in fighting? You

Вот и опять снег на дворе. Вот и зима наступила уже. Снег на душе и кажется мне, Что солнца опять не будет уже. Вряд ли кому нужен уже, Пылью покрытый портрет на стене. Пылью покрыта память