Текст песни The Lord Is A White Con (Paul Heaton) с переводом

When the white man went to Africa

With briefcase in his hand

Pristine Bible held in other

Whilst black man held the land

Now the black man holds the Bible

And turns to see his land is gone

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

Who carved up the continent

Like an operating room?

Friar Barroso, Reverend Helm

And Livingstone, I presume

Fire and brimstone in their soul

And buckshot in their belt

The good book or the bullet

That’s the hand the white man dealt

In East Africa, they called you 'boy'

In the West, just plain 'garçon'

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

When the Scotsman went to Caribbean

With his lectern on the boat

He stepped to shore, and took the young man

Tightly by the throat

Any man who sleeps with man

To Hades, he’ll be gone

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

And as he taught them every single verse

To old Amazing Grace

Bedding Bounty Killer and Buju Banton

Perfectly in place

Fire and brimstone in their soul

And buckshot in their belt

The good book or the bullet

That’s the hand the white man dealt

In East Africa, they called you 'boy'

In the West, just plain 'garçon'

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

When the white folk started singing

They only did in solemn prayer

And not till Pops and Mavis did

The spirit take them there

Now the gospel singer, she plays the clubs

And the soul man cleans the john

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

Blind Boy Fuller, Howling Wolf

And all the blues men gone

All we’ve got to show for it

Is Joss Stone at No. 1

Fire and brimstone in their soul

And buckshot in their belt

The good book or the bullet

That’s the hand the white man dealt

In East Africa, they called you 'boy'

In the West, just plain 'garçon'

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

[Bridge 1

When the white man started singing

He put finger straight in ear

He wouldn’t play a song or style

That might risk his career

Previously, a slave would trade

His freedom for the chance

To get off boat, and for the white man

Do a song or dance

Now the whole world’s screaming R 'n' B

But it’s whiter than a swan

And finally, you realise

The Lord’s a blue-eyed con

Old Jim Crow, the Minstrel Show

The whole of history

You think you’ll make it up to them

With a touch of Harper Lee?

Fire and brimstone in their soul

And buckshot in their belt

The good book or the bullet

That’s the hand the white man dealt

In East Africa, they called you 'boy'

In the West, just plain 'garçon'

And you realise the Lord

The Lord is a white con

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