Abu Mu'adh
12-04-07, 10:18 PM
does anybody know who wrote the following;
His arms are heavy, knees weak, palms are sweaty
He seeks peace, but the target's ready
He's scarred already, tortured and bruised by corporal troops
For three weeks, cut him with a sharp machete
He's armed and deadly, with wires strapped to his chest
Brings the embassy a package which he hands to the desk
Attached to his vest the fuse which his jacket protects
The shrapnel compressed, revenge for every Arabic death
Every captive who bled, attacked at the hands of the west
Whose families wept when sons put their daddies to rest
Every man who protests, those who want their land to be kept
In the hands of the blessed, free of foreign capture and theft
He's planning ahead, aint a martyr's glory
But a father's story showing future seeds how the standard is set
Hands to his head, he raises his eyes, prays to the sky
Says his goodbyes n' writes the last stage of his life
The blazes ignite, flames in the radiant night
Portraying the plight of all those who's race isnt white
Payin' the price for laying waste to terrain in their sights
Arabian nights replaced with a grave for a pipe
Pipelines for oil, a pipe dream for white schemes
To wipe clean middle east peace for a ****'s greed
Might seem their gifts come packaged in peace
But the fallacies wrapped lavishly in fascist regimes
A massive machine to keep masses passive with dreams
of black limousines and cash you'll only have when deceased
The American way, the 21st century plague
Thats sending to graves any displays of enemy traits
Patriots wrapped in union jacks could never relate
To schools in Iraq, abused 'n then snap, fend for their faith
Jews in the back, movin in packs to sentence our fate
By using the tax for troops to attack with weaponry crates
We slept and they came, crept through the gates, wavin their flags
Flooded soil with our blood for oil, labour and gas
Haitian or black, Cajun or 'Spic, Asian or Chink
Cage 'em all to the floor, wait 'till their race is extinct
Chain 'em in links and wait until their ghosts lie in heaven
'Cus every colour's a threat to the west post nine-eleven.
His arms are heavy, knees weak, palms are sweaty
He seeks peace, but the target's ready
He's scarred already, tortured and bruised by corporal troops
For three weeks, cut him with a sharp machete
He's armed and deadly, with wires strapped to his chest
Brings the embassy a package which he hands to the desk
Attached to his vest the fuse which his jacket protects
The shrapnel compressed, revenge for every Arabic death
Every captive who bled, attacked at the hands of the west
Whose families wept when sons put their daddies to rest
Every man who protests, those who want their land to be kept
In the hands of the blessed, free of foreign capture and theft
He's planning ahead, aint a martyr's glory
But a father's story showing future seeds how the standard is set
Hands to his head, he raises his eyes, prays to the sky
Says his goodbyes n' writes the last stage of his life
The blazes ignite, flames in the radiant night
Portraying the plight of all those who's race isnt white
Payin' the price for laying waste to terrain in their sights
Arabian nights replaced with a grave for a pipe
Pipelines for oil, a pipe dream for white schemes
To wipe clean middle east peace for a ****'s greed
Might seem their gifts come packaged in peace
But the fallacies wrapped lavishly in fascist regimes
A massive machine to keep masses passive with dreams
of black limousines and cash you'll only have when deceased
The American way, the 21st century plague
Thats sending to graves any displays of enemy traits
Patriots wrapped in union jacks could never relate
To schools in Iraq, abused 'n then snap, fend for their faith
Jews in the back, movin in packs to sentence our fate
By using the tax for troops to attack with weaponry crates
We slept and they came, crept through the gates, wavin their flags
Flooded soil with our blood for oil, labour and gas
Haitian or black, Cajun or 'Spic, Asian or Chink
Cage 'em all to the floor, wait 'till their race is extinct
Chain 'em in links and wait until their ghosts lie in heaven
'Cus every colour's a threat to the west post nine-eleven.