Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Painting and repainting the future of our land with crooked hands
Laughing at things as the world pass us by.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Writing us messages that have no bloodline.
Although black oil runs in our veins like water of vegetation
There is a sunstroke in our land.
We dream of cassava songs in the market
We dream of an open vehicle that could bear the tiredness of our souls but we are at the verge of things.
Our chairmen our flag bearers of fences
Translators of black dreams with European mirror.
The white house is open for destitutes, kindred of destitutes that are china in African sun.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again and there is a sunstroke in our land
The scorching heat is against banana groves.
Look and see children on a hungry march in the metallic road.
Being the oldest in the family
and surf the waves on top of a
longboard while having them
back in numbers, oh yeah,
never volunteer for NAM, again,
and be sure to kiss mom and
hug my family everyday and
make them proud with my
first of many guitar albums
and increase our family tree
and, remember not to tell
my kid brother to, "get lost."
|"Give me just a little more time"|
|(give me just a little more time)|
|Song by, Chairmen of the Board|
Old,teak made chairs,
Heavy weights,
New plastic and steel chairs,
Made sitting Chairmen light!