From half a mile outside the town on
Well, once a week he had this job at
the sale yard draftin' stock
Half the price of the standard wage
and a feed was what he got
Dealin', how we gonna win
When we're killin' half their darkest crime
of bein' zipped up in black skin
We're living on the fringes,
far below the standard line
Our heritage, they try to take it
back and bury it back in time
We're exiled in the very land of
Pushed back across our hunting grounds
Dillon, how we gonna win, boy?
When we're guilty of their darkest crime
Of being zipped up in black skin
Well, there's genocide upon our child
Our women were raped and beat
Lord just slammed me in a cell
We're living in the riverbeds
They give us that tag of lazy cats
that won't get off their bum
Dillon, how we gonna win, boy
When we're guilty of their darkest crime
of being zipped up in black skin
Well, they'd call us jet black or hybrid
Well, it matters nothin' much
We're black, that's that,
And they're treatin' us as such
They mail us welfare handouts
And they fed us on sheep guts
They satisfy their conscience
We won't bite the breast, we suck
When we're guilty of their darkest crime
Of being zipped up in black skin