Charlotte
| Charlotte . . . your children don't know, What you paint these lines for, The lines of the black & the lines of the white, And of course those rich and those poor. So you raise them on culture and now, They're lying in dishes grow germs up and how do you expect them to grow up as rich as you did, When you keep them from growing in life as it is? Charlotte its girls like you . . . who keep me losing sleep. Charlotte its girls like you . . . that make cynics like me. So you raise them with blinders attached, Keeping them safe from the viscous attacks, Of poets, freethinkers, and preachers of thoughts, Subversive to all the great presents you bought. Charlotte its girls like you . . . who keep me losing sleep. Charlotte its girls like you . . . that make cynics like me. Charlotte its girls like you . that keep the world from change. |
|
