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[ti:My Thirty Thousand] |
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Paul Robeson hes the man |
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That faced the Ku Klux Klan |
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On hollow groves golfing ground |
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His words come sounding |
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And all around him there |
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To jump and clap and cheer |
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I sent the best the best I had |
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My thirty thousand |
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Well The Klansman leader said |
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That Paul would lose his head |
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When thirty five thousand vets |
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Broke up that concert |
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But less than four thousand came |
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To side with the Klan |
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But around Pauls lonesome oak |
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My thirty thousand |
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A beersoaked brassy band |
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Did snortle round the grounds |
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Four hundred noblest souls |
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Westchesters manhood |
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And they looked exactly like |
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The fleas on a tigers back |
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Lost fish in the waters of |
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My thirty thousand |
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When Paul had sung and gone |
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And the kids and babies home |
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Cops came with guns and clubs |
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And they clubbed and beat 'em |
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Well I'd hate to be a cop |
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Caught with a bloody stick |
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'Cause you can't bash the brains |
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Out of thirty thousand |
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Each eye you tried to gouge |
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Each skull you tried to crack |
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Has a thousand thousand friends |
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Around this green grass |
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If you furnish the skull someday |
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I'll pass out the clubs and guns |
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To the billion hands that love |
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My thirty thousand |
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Each wrinkle on your face |
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I know it at a glance |
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You cannot run and hide |
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Nor duck nor dodge them |
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And your carcass and your deeds |
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Will fertilize the seeds |
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Of the men that stood to guard |
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My thirty thousand |
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Of the men that stood to guard |
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My thirty thousand |
