| It’s been a long dry season in tinderbox town
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| And the ghetto cars go cruising up and down and round and round
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| With tinted windows and the screech of tires
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| Poverty likes to ride in the best disguise
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| The boys get bored, set fire to the sheds at the end of my street
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| The thick black smoke rises up into the dusk
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| Sirens scream out across the hills
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| Turn into the close as the boys all swagger
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| I’ve got no quarrel with you brother
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| But the war is getting closer
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| Down at the Union there we stood
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| And embraced like brothers should
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| The fire catches when your back is turned
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| And now we watch as the city burns
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| And now we watch as the city burns
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| We used to joke about the colour of our skins
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| We used to joke about the names of God
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| But now the racist cops come round
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| Put your cousin up against the wall
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| A little crowd gathers round and takes up sides
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| The white trash come out of their doorways and mutter
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| There’s a macho stand off with sullen faces all around
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| And all the middle ground is washing away
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| And no one really wants it there anyway
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| It’s a time of pack dogs brother
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| And the war’s getting closer
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| Down at the Union there we stood
 | 
| And embraced like brothers should
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| The fire catches when your back is turned
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| And now we watch as the city burns
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| And now we watch as the city burns
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| And I, I accuse you, you want so much
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| But you give nothing of yourself
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| And I, I believe you, you want so much
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| But you keep nothing of yourself |