| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 0:32 | 
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Picture a man of nearly thirty
Who seems twice as old with clothes torn and dirty Give him a job shining shoes Or cleaning out toilets with bus station crews Give him six children with nothing to eat Expose them to life on a ghetto street Tie an old rag around his wife's head And have her pregnant and lying in bed Stuff them all in a Harlem house And then tell them how bad things are down South. |
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| 2. |
| 3:02 | 
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| 3. |
| 3:33 |
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Find a shadow cast by rainbows
There you’ll meet the sage. Feeding rabbits bits of lettuce or cleaning out the cage. He can give you more direction than you’ve ever known. Show you your bronzed baby shoes Now, my how you have grown! Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by, But Peace won’t be still of its own free will. Say you want to go exploring; you got to find some truth. Can’t stand one more day of Christians shouting down at you. You say you don’t dig politics that never was your bag. People who could run for office wave their private flag. Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by, But peace won’t be still of its own free will Ain’t it nice to fly? You’re waving as soft clouds go by, But peace won’t be still of its own free will. |
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| 4. |
| 1:45 |
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A rat done bit my sister Nell
With Whitey on the moon Her face and arms began to swell And Whitey's on the moon I can't pay no doctor bills But Whitey's on the moon Ten years from now I'll be paying still While Whitey's on the moon You know, the man just upped my rent last night Cause Whitey's on the moon No hot water, no toilets, no lights But Whitey's on the moon I wonder why he's uppin' me? Cause Whitey's on the moon? Well i was already given him fifty a week And now Whitey's on the moon Taxes takin' my whole damn check The junkies make me a nervous wreck The price of food is goin up And if all that crap wasn't enough A rat done bit my sister nell With Whitey on the moon Her face and arms began to swell And Whitey's on the moon With all that money i made last year For Whitey on the moon How come I ain't got no money here? Hmm, Whitey's on the moon You know I just about had my fill Of Whitey on the moon I think I'll send these doctor bills airmail special (To Whitey on the moon) |
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| 5. |
| 4:20 |
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Standing in the ruins
Of another Black man's life, or flying through the valley They're separating day and night. "I am death," cried the Vulture. "For the people of the light." Charon brought his raft and came from the sea that sails on souls, And saw the scavenger departing, taking warm hearts to the cold. He knew the ghetto was the haven for the meanest creature ever known. In a wilderness of heartbreak and a desert of despair, Evil's clarion of justice shrieks a cry of naked terror. He's taking babies from their mommas and leaving grief beyond compare. So if you see the Vulture coming, he's flying circles in your mind, Remember there is no escaping for he will follow close behind. Only promised me a battle, battle for your soul and mine. He taking babies from their momas And he's leaving Leaving Leaving Leaving Leaving |
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| 6. |
| 1:20 |
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This is just like listening
to a conversation being held by the many people who congregate on one of the most popular blocks in the largest area of black America Did you ever eat cornbread and black eye peas Or watermelon and mustard greens? Get high as you can on Saturday night Go to church on Sunday to set things right Listen I seen Miss Blake after Willy yesterday She'd've killed anybody who got in her way Hey look I got a TV for a pound on the head And Jimmy Jean got the best Panamanian Red No I ain't got on no underclothes But we all got to get through this gypsy rose I think Clay got his very good points You say a trade bag with thirteen joints? Who cares if LBJ is in town? Up with Stokely and H. Rap Brown I don't know if the riots is wrong But whitey's been kickin' my ass for too long I was s'posed to baby but they held my pay. Did you hear what the number was yesterday? Junkies is all right when they ain't broke They leaves you alone when they high on dope Damn, but I wish I could get up and move Shut up. Hell you know that ain't true. |
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| 7. |
| 1:32 |
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The economy is in an uproar
The whole damn countries is in the red Taxi fares are going up You say, "Billy Green is dead"? The government can't decide on bussin' or at least thats what they said Yea I heard you, when you told me You said, "Billy Green was dead" But let me tell you bout these hot-pants that this big legged sister wore when i partied with the alphas what? Billy took an overdose well now junkies will be junkies but did you see Gunsmoke last night? man they had themselves a shootout and folks was dyin' left and right At the end when Matt was cornerd i had damn near give up hope What you? Why you keep on interrupting me? you say, My son is taking dope? Call the law and call the doctor! What you mean i shouldn't scream? My only son is taking dope? Should i sit here like I'm pleased? Is that familiar anybody? Check out whats inside your head Because it never seems to matter when it's Billy Green who's dead |
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| 8. |
| 4:40 |
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| 9. |
| 5:07 |
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(What we want to discuss here
are routes out of the ghetto. This is called the "Get Out of the Ghetto" blues.) I know you think you're cool-- LORD, if they bus your kids to school... I know you think you're cool, Just cuz they bus your kids to school. But you ain't got a thing to lose; You just got the get out of the ghetto blues. I know you think you're cool If you're gettin' two WELFARE checks; You done TOLD me you think you're cool Because you're gettin' two WELFARE checks. Yea! But you got ten years to lose (if they catch you) Just tryin' to fight that get out of the ghetto blues. (what it is, what it is.) If he don't catch you in the wash, LORD knows he'll catch you in the rinse. I know you think you're cool Just 'cuz you shooting that stuff in your arm. I seen you nodding 'Cuz you shoot that STUFF into your arm. And it don't matter which pine box you choose: You got the get out of the ghetto blues. Yeah. |
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| 10. |
| 2:49 |
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| 11. |
| 2:13 |
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You explained it to me I must admit
But just for the record you were talkin' shit Y'all rap about no knock bein' legislated For the people you've always hated In this hell hole you, we, call home No knock, the man will say To keep that man from beating his wife No knock, the man will say To protect people from themselves No knockin', head-rockin', inter-shockin' Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin' And bein' white No knock No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton Bullet holes all over the place No knocked on my brother Michael Harris And jammed a shotgun against his skull For my protection? Who's gonna protect me from you? The likes of you? The nerve of you? Your tomato face deadpan Your dead hands ending another freedom fan No knockin', head rockin', inter-shockin' Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin' And bein' white But if you're wise, no knocker You'll tell your no-knockin' lackeys Ha! No knock on my brother's head No knock on my sister's head No knock on my brother's head No knock on my sister's head And double lock your door Because soon someone may be no-knockin' Ha, ha! For you (No knock: To be slipped into John Mitchell's suggestion box.) |
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| 12. |
| 4:14 |
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it was not enough that we were bought and brought to this home as the slave, locked in the bowels of a floating shithouse, watching those we love eaten away by plauge and insanity, flesh falling like strips of bark from a termite-infested tree, bones rotting turning first to brittle ivory then to resin.
that was not enough. it was not enough that we were chained to leg irons, black on black with a piss stained wall forced to heed nature's call through and inside of tattered rags that strained our privates, and evidently years of slavery did not appease your need to be superior to something like a crazed lion hung up on being the king of his corner of the cage, backs bent under the wieght of being everything and having nothing, minds too like bomerrangs curving back into themselves kicked and carved by the face-straining smiles that saved my life. that was not enough. somehow i can not believe that it would be enough for me to melt with you and integrate without the thoughts of rape and murder. i cannot conceive of peace on earth until i have given you a piece of lead or pipe to end your worthless motherfucking exitence. imagine your nightmares of my sneaking into a vieled of satin bedroom and attacking your daughter, wife and mother at once ripping open their bowels sexually like a wishbone. imagine that magnified a million times when you realize that the blinders have been stripped from my eyes and I realize that slavery was no smiling happy-fizzy party. your ancestors raped my foremothers and i will not forget. i will not forget that Yale or Harvard or Princeton or In-Hell because you are on my mind. i see you everytime my woman walks down the street with her ass on her shoulders. i see you everytime i look in the mirror and think about the times that i would pat myself on the back for not being too black afterall. i think of you morning, noon and night and i wonder, "just exactly what in hell is enough?" everytime i see a rope or gun i remember, and to top it all of you ain't through yet. over fifty you have killed in mississippi since 1963. that doesn't even begin to begin all of those you have maimed, hit and run over, blinded, poisoned, starved, or castrated. i hope you do not think that a vote for John Kennedy took you off my shit-list because in the street there will only be black and white. there will be no Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives, Moderates, or any other of the rest of that shit you have used to make me forget to hate. there ain't no enough. there ain't no surrender. there is only plot and plan, move and groove, kill. there is no promise land. there is only the promise. the promise is not vowel until we have been nerve gassed, shot down and murdered, or done some of the same ourselves. look over your shoulder motherfucker, i am coming. |
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| 13. |
| 5:16 |
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Many suggestions
And documents written. Many directions For the end that was given. They gave us Pieces of silver and pieces of gold. Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? Many fine speeches (oh yeah) From the White House desk (uh huh) Written on the cue cards That were never really there. Yes, But the heat and the summer were there And the freezing winter's cold. Now Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? Call my brother a junkie 'cause he ain't got no job (no job, no job). Told my old man to leave me when times got hard (so hard). Told my mother she got to carry me all by herself. And now that I want to be a man (be a man) who can depend on no one else (oh yeah). What about the red man Who met you at the coast? You never dig sharing; Always had to have the most. And what about Mississippi, The boundary of old? Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? Call my brother a junkie 'cause he ain't got no job Told my old man to leave me when times got hard (so hard). Told my mother she got to carry me all by herself. Wanna be a man that can depend on no one else (oh yeah). What about the red man, Who met you at the coast? You never dig sharing; Always had to have the most. And what about Mississippi, The boundaries of old? Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? Many fine speeches (oh yeah) From the White House desk (uh huh) Written on the cue cards That were never really there. Yes, But the heat and the summer were there And the freezing winter's cold. Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? Who'll pay reparations, ‘Cause I don't dig segregation, but I can't get integration I got to take it to the United Nations, Someone to help me away from this nation. Tell me, Who'll pay reparations on my soul? |
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| 14. |
| 3:20 |
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A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone Home is where the hatred is Home is filled with pain and it, might not be such a bad idea if i never, never went home again stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why hang on to your rosary beads close your eyes to watch me die you keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it God, but did you ever try to turn your sick soul inside out so that the world, so that the world can watch you die home is where I live inside my white powder dreams home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams home is where the needle marks try to heal my broken heart and it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again home again home again home again kick it, quit it kick it, quit it kick it, quit it kick it, can't go home again |
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| 15. |
| 3:07 |
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You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out. You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip out for beer during commercials, Because the revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox In 4 parts without commercial interruptions. The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Mendel Rivers to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, the revolution will not be televised, Brother. There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 on reports from 29 districts. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving For just the right occasion. Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so god damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally screwed Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. The revolution will not be televised. There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news and no pictures of hairy armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb or Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash or Englebert Humperdink. The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. The revolution will put you in the driver's seat. The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised, will not be televised. The revolution will be no re-run brothers; The revolution will be live. |
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