God, what a mess, on the ladder of success
When you take one step and miss the whole first rung
Dreams unfulfilled, graduate unskilled
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Clean your baby womb, trash that baby boom
Elvis in the ground, there'll ain't no beer tonight
Income tax deduction, what a hell of a function
It beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Unwillingness to claim us, ya got no warrant to name us
The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
We are the sons of no one, bastards of young
The daughters and the sons
Young...take it, it's yours...
Abonner på:
Legg inn kommentarer (Atom)
1 kommentar:
Funny how so many songs make so much more sense and are so much more powerful to me now that I work with angry teenagers who have every right to be angry.
I have a dream of putting together a collection of inspirational and revolutionary songs and lyrics for a poetry and music unit with my kids. If you were to make a cd for oppressed, repressed, downtrodden, under served, angry, enraged, depressed Native American teenagers living on the Rez... what would you put on it?
(I was never really an angry teenager, so I'm not the best at these things)
Legg inn en kommentar