Текст песни Letter to the 1% (Lowkey) с переводом

If I can sing this song without you maybe all is well

If we can sing this song without you we don’t need your wealth

This is my letter to the 1%

If I can sing this song without you maybe all is well

If we can sing this song without you we don’t need your wealth

Power to those who read bell hooks, power to those who sell books

Power to those who know how the inside of a cell looks

All those feeling helpless, forgotten and discarded

Power to the strange fruit you thought was rotten in the garden

Power to those sitting alone, seeking solace in the calmness

Power to those feeling stained, know your tomorrow isn’t tarnished

Power to those that sweep the streets with more knowledge than PhD’s

Power to those that keep their keys, return this promise, please believe

Power to those that suffer in silence, those it hurts to hear

Power to those that hold their ground, power to those that persevere

Power to those that love humanity more than they love style

Power to immigrants probably raising Donald Trump’s child

Power to the blind who can’t imagine what sight is

Those staring at the moon and all those working night-shifts

Power to the readers, the writers, the illiterate

Power to those that struggle to decolonise their syllabus

Power to the shy ones, always struggle to make friends

And the half of humanity worth less than eight men

Power to those that risked their life to dig the coltan from the ground

For the mic I’m spitting on and the phone you’re holding now

Power to those that build the stadium they’re playing in

Power to those that mowed the grass and stitched the ball that they’re playing

with

Power to every rapper that doesn’t rap about killing

Power to the builders who built buildings that outlived them

If I can sing this song without you maybe all is well

If we can sing this song without you we don’t need your wealth

Power to the slaves of Ancient Greece that never had the right to vote

Democracy dead like Gary Webb, when they import it like it’s coke

Power to those that write to prison, power to those writing home

Power to those writing poems, power to those that died alone

Power to Curtis Mayfield, power to Ronald Isley

Power to the fishermen that were forced into piracy

Power to every person that is working in a library

Power to every nurse that we turn to in our times of need

Power to the unions and the miners Thatcher punished

Power to those that drive the buses and those that collect the rubbish

Power to the youth desiring the truth

Power to every rapper that is dying for a Fire in the Booth

For those that lost limbs to King Leopald’s quota

And those risking their lives for the P&O to Dover

Power to union leaders murdered by…

Power to victims of this globalised cosa nostra

Power to those dying on the shores and the borders

Power to human beings that were rendered fauna and flora

Power to those that cleaned up after the stage show

And Carnival goers still haunted by Kelso Cochrane’s ghost

Power to Kevin Carter his picture taunts us ever after

So many questions never answered

Remember the last words of Abdul-Muhsin Al-Saadoun, «الأمة تنتظر الخدمة،

الإنجليز لا يوافقون»

Power to Al-Jawahiri and his rebellions

They killed his brother Ja’far and he cursed the rotten Thamesians

Enlighten despots pursuing tactics Machiavellian

Chinese still preceded Europa millennium, think about it

Printed press half a millennium never get close

Power to Ken Loach and every volunteer in Lesbos

Cuban doctors sent to Sri Lanka for the tsunami

Power to those that cleaned up after the Bullingdon parties

Kids knowing Apple products before they know what an apple is

Forgotten like passengers on the USS Indianapolis

Dying days, for they could see what little boy’s damage did

On the precipice of fascism, my passiveness is cancerous

Power to those still strong enough to dream

Power to those that chose not to be a cog in the machine

Power to those that love first and hate never

Power to those that sleep on the streets through grey weather

Power to Aziz Ali, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony

Power to Norman Baker, David Kelly’s ulnar artery

Power to the genocided population of Tasmania

The internet descends to Trumptastic fantasia

Let them try quote and this

You’ll never find a better diagnosis than collective psychosis

It’s getting quite hopeless but hope is all we have

Tryna cultivate the positive, not focus on the bad

But the globe’s under attack

The obnoxious rage of a fake intellectual

Amazing grace in the age of the spectacle

Not the first time they found a racist electable

To raise to the pedestal

Then desecrate the place that translated the decimal

I don’t wanna tempt fate

Power to corpse-washers like Salvador Allende

Power to language learners, Bernie Sanders fans to flag-burners

One man’s inertia is another man’s purpose

In the utopia of song, we are victorious

But the bitter sweet reality is not this glorious

Power to Coltrane watching Malcolm X

Power to Paul Robeson under house-arrest

Power to Galileo under house-arrest

Power to Ibn Haytham under house-arrest

Forgive me if I sound obsessed

This is my letter to the 1%

If I can sing this song without you maybe all is well

The redistribution of power x2

We want the redistribution of power x2

If we can sing this song without you we don’t need your wealth

We want the redistribution of power, the redistribution of power until your

power is ours

Until your power is ours

If I can sing this song without you maybe all is well

If we can sing this song without you we don’t need your wealth