She washed her hands 300 times but still they're dripping red
We caught her in the pauper's pit, she stole the prince's head, still
cursing 'blasphemy' O mercy me
He staggered like a chicken They lynched him; they left him flinching
then took theirs [sic] seats and kept on knitting
God bless the noble savage as he swaggers, as he sweats He's making
bets on who is next- he doesn't care about the colour
(First they rounded up the reds but I'm not red so Then they rounded
up the blacks but I'm not blacks so
Then they rounded up the gypsies and the junkies and donkeys Now I'm
scared to whistle 'swanee' cos they'll ask me for my spit)
This is the garden that we walk in and it's dying So we cut it down
We're drowning now
There's no way out
We all fall down