Gil Scott-Heron - The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (1988) by Gil Scott-Heron (보컬) on maniadb.com

You will not be able to stay home brother
you will not be able to plug in, turn on and drop out
you will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip
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 interruption
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog moss 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
Wood 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 because The revolution will not be televised brother
There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays
pushing that cart down the block on the
dead run
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen
ambulance
NBC will not be able to predict the winner at 8:32
or the count 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 young being
run out of Harlem 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 damned relevant and
women will not care of Dick finally gets down with
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,
Francis Scott Key nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Engelbert Humperdinck of The
Rare Earth
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 germ in your
bedroom, the tiger in your tank, or the giant in you
toilet bowl
The revolution will not go better with Coke
The revolution will not fight germs that can cause
bad breath
The revolution WILL put you in the driver's
seat
The revolution will not be televised, will no be televised
will not be televised
The revolution will be no re-run brothers
The revolution will be live--
27569

I was doin' it when I was a colored boy of eight or nine or ten
I had never heard of Sigmund Freud but hell I was doin' it then
I was doin' it in my teenaged years when I was running the ghetto streets
Now I had never seen me no ink blot test but it still felt good to me

I was doin' it when I arrived in college searching for my degree
But Lord knows a degree wasn't all I got and that's the way it's supposed to be
I hope that when I have kids of my own they really don't get shook
When I tell them that there are things they've got to learn that can't be found in books.

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Lyrics Powered by LyricFind
Written By GIL SCOTT-HERON
<i>Lyrics &copy; CARLIN AMERICA INC</i>

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 keep 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

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

We deal in too many externals, brother
Always afro's, handshakes and dashikis
Never can a man build a working structure for black capitalism
Always does the man read Mao or Fanon

I think I know you would-be black revolutionaries too well
Standing on a box on the corner, talking about blowing the white man away
That's now where it's at yet, brother

Calling this man an Uncle Tom and telling this woman to get an afro
But you won't speak to her if she looks like hell, now will you brother
Some of us been checking your act out kinda close

And by now its looking kinda shaky
The way you been rushin' people with your super black bag
Jumping down on some black men with both feet cause they're after their B-A
But you're never around when your BA is in danger, I mean your black ass
I think it was a little too easy for you to forget that you were a negro before Malcolm
You drove your white girl through the village every Friday night
While the grassroots stared in envy and drank wine, do you remember?
You need to get your memory banks organized brother.

Show that man you call an Uncle Tom just where he's wrong
Show that woman that you're a sincere black man
All we need to do is see you shut up and be black
Help that woman
Help that man
That's what brothers are for brother.

If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of


My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

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 bill.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
Ten years from now I'll be payin' still.
(while Whitey's on the moon)

The man jus' upped my rent las' 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 uppi' me?
('cause Whitey's on the moon?)
I was already payin' 'im fifty a week.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Taxes takin' my whole damn check,
Junkies makin' me a nervous wreck,
The price of food is goin' up,
An' as if all that shit wasn't enough

A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face an' arm began to swell.
(but Whitey's on the moon)

Was all that money I made las' year
(for Whitey on the moon?)
How come there ain't no money here?
(Hm! Whitey's on the moon)
Y'know I jus' 'bout had my fill
(of Whitey on the moon)
I think I'll sen' these doctor bills,
Airmail special
(to Whitey on the moon)