Jack Deelin went a walkin'
Upon a market day
From half mile outside the town on foot he made his way
Once a week he had a job
At the saleyards draftin' stock
Half the price of the standard wage
And a feed was what he got
CHORUS
Jack Deelin how we gonna win
When we're guilty of their darkest crime
Of bein' zipped up in Black skin?
We livin' on the fringes
Far below the standard line
They say our heritage is dead and gone
They bury it back in time
We're exiled in the very land
Of our ancestors and gods
Pushed back across our hunting grounds
And shot down like a dog
There's genocide upon our child
Our women were raped and beat
The law'll slam you in a cell
For just bein' on the street
We're livin' in the river beds
And in the urban slums
They give us that tag of lazy cats
That won't get off our bums
They term us jet black or hybrid
Well it matters nothin much
We're black that's that we're third rate
And they treatin' us as such
They mail us welfare handouts
And fed us on sheep guts
They satisfied their conscience
We won't bite the breast we s**