She washed her hands 300 times
But still they're dripping red
We caught her in the pauper's pit
She stole the prince's head...
Cursing 'blasphemy'...
O mercy me...
He staggered like a chicken

They lynched him;
They left him flinching
Running scared...
Took their seats...they kept on knitting

God bless the noble savage
As he swaggers
As he sweats
He's making bets on who is next-
He don't care about the colour...

So many here to choose from...

(First they rounded up the reds
But I'm not red so...

Then they rounded up the blacks
But I'm not black so...
Then they rounded up the gypsies
And the junkies and donkeys

Now I'm scared to whistle 'swanee'
'Cause they'll ask me for my spit...)

It's the garden that we walk in
And it's dying...so we cut it down
We're drowning now
There's no way out
We all fall down