(I'm Tellin' You...)
There’s a homeless man, sitting on the street
He’s holding a bottle; he’s thinking about a sandwich
Boy, how it would taste so good right now
To hold it in his hands, taste it on his tongue
Sit in front of it at A TABLE, in a chair
Surrounded by a kitchen, inside of a house he owned
“Never know when The Man gonna come along and take it all away”
Who’s the reason for what he’s going through?
It’s The White Cracka Devil, I’m Tellin’ You
There’s an old black man, sitting on a bench
He’s holding a bottle; he’s thinking about his past…
The parts that didn’t last, like it happened all so fast
All his dreams and desires are vanished
Lost through years of humiliation
All that damned perverse discrimination
“Never know when The Man just gonna, sneak up on ya”
Better look out for you know who?
It’s The White Cracka Devil, I’m Tellin’ You
There’s a young white man, sitting on a barstool
He holding a bottle; he’s thinking about his future
Complaining to the bartender any story that’ll suit ya
All his dreams and desires hindered
Lost through lack of admiration
All that damned reversed discrimination
“Never know when one of ‘em’s gonna just, freak out on ya”
When they say “Who’s The Man!?!”, you know who they mean, Fool!
It’s The White Cracka Devil, I’m Tellin’ You
There’s a middle-aged Latino woman, staring at her TV
She’s holding a bottle; she’s thinking about her image
The parts that didn’t last, like they weakened all so fast
All her dreams and desires bloated
By some products being promoted
To keep her beauty from being demoted
“Never know when The Man might wanna get up on ya”
What lie is disguised, then packaged as truth
It’s The White Cracka Devil, I’m Tellin’ You
There’re some punk-assed little kids, playing in the street
They’re kicking a bottle, thinking about absolutely nothing
High on smack, their minds are wasted, oven-roasted basted
They spare no time for dreams and desires like hopefuls
Their parents are too busy trying to pay taxation
Living the lie of cursed determination
“Never know when The Man might be watching, keeping up on ya”
Who’s really the one collecting what’s due?
It’s The White Cracka Devil, I’m Tellin’ You
Ha ha - ha ha - ha ha - ha...
There’s some dumb-assed idiot, screaming on the street
Breaking a bottle, thinking about the shattered glass
Looking for who’s to blame, he’s not of the responsible class
No one made him pick it up, but it’s kind of ironic
That it was available at just the right time of the quiet
Enough for him to get excited and riot
Over some issue not addressed, but creeping up on ya
There’s a heated discussion, talking on the beat
Overflowing out of that bottle, thinking about the fact
That it’s nothing WE personally lack, “It’s just The Man holdin’ us back!”
Look through the dreams and desires of all our ‘his stories’
We’re the ones who chose to govern ourselves, then mourned
Ever heard of the Bible? It’s not like we weren’t previously warned
“Never know when the end may come”, God allowed us time to prove who’s who…
He’s The White Cracka Devil, Man
– That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!
There’s no White Cracka Devil
There’s just me and you…
Ha ha - ha ha - ha ha - HA
Copyright 1992 (Elizabeth Anne/Steven B. Reeder)
2001 FunkyButtMonkeeMusic, INC (BMI)