A Gospel - Paul Weller

    Handed down from fathers to sons
    Was the hatred of weakness and the love of guns
    A talk of peace but not in our time
    To save our souls and stop the crime
    Onwards and upwards but going nowhere
    So how many now truthfully swear
    That they do no evil - see no wrong
    The ad-mass agents, the writers of song
    The bankers, the poets, the modern day seers
    Clouding an issue that was never quite clear

    Sent through the ages of boy to man
    The living testament of making a stand
    Killing the wicked then raising the dead
    Eating propaganda and shit spoon fed
    Grasping for wisdom, but thick all the same
    So how many innocents now can claim
    That they play with fire - and get burnt
    And through the same mistakes never get learnt
    Hoping for a time it will fall to place
    Faith shall show as our saving grace

    Handed down from God with love
    Was the whole wide world and some above
    But not content to share the land
    Greed was shown the winning hand
    And those whose greed was the strongest of all
    Took upon themselves to lead the call
    That some must work while other rest
    Without the question of what is best
    The leaders, the losers and the kings
    Pass the rifle butt that tyranny brings

    Passed on over to the chosen few

    Was the promise of freedom with a breadline queue
    Ghetto's, gateaux and eating it too
    Forcing it all down with a cola brew
    The first amendment and the hunt for reds
    A conscious contradiction with something said
    That they see no evil - with eyes shut tight
    A cocaine culture that offers no fight
    Dragged from birth - drugged to death
    The common excuse is 'just being yourself'

    Hand us down before it's too late
    The strength and wisdom to change our state
    Governed by evil and all it will bring
    I can't wait for the day they do the lamppost swing
    And no mercy should they be shown
    For you cannot reason with the devil's own
    They say, they hear no evil - hands clasped tight
    To shut out the victims' screams of ol' Uncle Sam fights
    He sweats and he strains as his boney frame comes -

    into the womb of an innocent one

    Marco Giunco
    Work Basket Music Words