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Lyrics:The Israelites

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I get up in the morning slaving for bread sir,
So that every mouth can be fed,
Poor me, Israelites

Cho! shirt dem a tear-up, trousers a go,
I don' wan' to end up like Bonny and Clyde,
Poor me, Israelites

After a storm there mus' be a calming,
You catch me in your palm, you sound your alarm,
Poor me, Israelites.

Cho! shirt dem a tear-up, trousers a go,
I don' wan' to end up like Bonny and Clyde,
Poor me, Israelites

I get up in the morning slaving for bread sir,
So that every mouth can be fed,
Poor me, Israelites

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