MY ROAD
On this road there were
Spanish people who didn't dare to rise
They support the old refugees
Who escaped from idiots and kings
On this road there were
Frenchmen who were without luck
They wrote "long live France",
to the wall of their house
On this road there were
Portugues people they were proud like
Jailers of misery
Some fruittrees
And all the coynes of the world
** It was
My road, my family
Those mothers who shout
It was: however - ball-games
It was my road
It was not Manille
No, it was not Antilles
It wasn't a hammer or a sickle
It was my road
Vanilla ice-cream
And little kids,
those who shake
They are not so sweet
It was my road
Good morning eels
The cops, who supervise us
But it wasn't my Bastille
It was my road **
On this road there were
Africa ans its own mistakes
They have another God, I suppose
There we met idiots and crosses
On this road there were
All the workers of the world
There they were building foots on land
Where they'll never live
On this road there were
Caravans like Carriages of angry
They are not the fear of winter
Of the violent world
On this road I think
The kids weren't built of ice
When they drove with ice-trucks
They spoke strange languages
One day we were angry
We burned all, we weren't afraid of hell
When we have woken up
Behind the bolts in chains
For you
**My road, my family
Those mothers who shout
It was: however - ball-games
It was my road... **