[Pre-Hook 1: Radical Son]
I was born by the river
In a little tent
Oh, and just like the river
I've been running ever since
[Hook: Radical Son]
It's been a long
Long time coming
But I know
Change gon' come
Oh yes it will
[Verse 1: Nookie]
I was born by the river in a small coastal town
Where the smell of the strange fruit still floats around
I was shown that tree where the fruits used to swing
They was strung up as [?] swayin' in the wind
With blood on the wattle, trees with lifeless limbs
I turned away and then cringed, mum said "Listen to them sing"
Then I heard the breeze bring the terrible thing
All that's changed now is that rope's a tire swing
[Verse 2: Ozi Batla]
Change, well it won't happen in a day
They said eventually, how many weeks, decades or centuries?
Mistakes made, they can't be washed away so simply
And symbolisms weak medicine for grievous injury
False smiles, frontin' false idols hiding discrimination
A feel good slogan, some self congratulation
Empty statements, while the hangman's ghost is still waiting
In the lockup, the paddy wagon, 12 shells on the pavement
I was born by the river
In a little tent
Oh, and just like the river
I've been running ever since
[Hook: Radical Son]
It's been a long
Long time coming
But I know
Change gon' come
Oh yes it will
[Verse 1: Nookie]
I was born by the river in a small coastal town
Where the smell of the strange fruit still floats around
I was shown that tree where the fruits used to swing
They was strung up as [?] swayin' in the wind
With blood on the wattle, trees with lifeless limbs
I turned away and then cringed, mum said "Listen to them sing"
Then I heard the breeze bring the terrible thing
All that's changed now is that rope's a tire swing
[Verse 2: Ozi Batla]
Change, well it won't happen in a day
They said eventually, how many weeks, decades or centuries?
Mistakes made, they can't be washed away so simply
And symbolisms weak medicine for grievous injury
False smiles, frontin' false idols hiding discrimination
A feel good slogan, some self congratulation
Empty statements, while the hangman's ghost is still waiting
In the lockup, the paddy wagon, 12 shells on the pavement
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