Текст песни How Many Bullets - The Last Poets

You Can't Kill Me
You Can't Kill What You Can't See
Oh How You've Tried
To Blow My Brains Out With Bigotry
Chopped Off My Wings
So I Couldn't Fly Free
And Dared Me To Be Me
Took My Drum
Broke My Hands
Yanked My Roots Right Up Out Of The Land
And Riddled My Soul With Jesus
You Killed The Mind With Dreams
And The Heart With Desires
You Called America
Called New York
Called California
Called Mississippi
Or The West
You With Your Red White And Blue Dress
Long Straggly Beard
Popped Belly And Soggy Eyes
Pulling Rabbits Out Of Your Top Hat
And Rats With Welfare Checks
Between Their Long Yellow Fangs
Play In Your Hair
And Your Disease Is Spreading Everywhere
But You Can't Kill Me
You Can't Shoot What You Can't See
You Thought You Shot Malcolm
But All You Did Was Multiply His Power
You Thought You Shot Martin
And Black Folks Got Stronger By The Hour
You Thought You Blew Away
Four Little Girls In Birmingham
The Sweet Spirit Of A Lamb
Cannot Die Or Be Denied
Of Life Eternally
And We Shall Live Through All
The Barrages Of Madness
That Try To Shoot Us Down
In Full And Living Color
We Will Live Inspite Of It For
Clifford, For Mark, Fred, Otis
Zayd, Arthur, Mrs. King, For
George And Jonathan
And All The Brothers And Sisters
Who Were Sacrificed For The Price
Of Our Freedom
And Love For Living
And Dancing On Clouds
Sipping Sun Rays Through A Straw
We Live In Awe Of Ourselves
You Can't Kill Me
You Can't Kill What You Can't See