The Guns of Brixton

The Guns of Brixton When they kick at your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head Or on the trigger of your gun When the law break in How you gonna go? Shot down on the pavement Or waiting on death row You can crush us You can bruise us But you'll have to answer to Oh, the guns of Brixton The money feels good And your life you like it well But surely your time will come As in heaven, as in hell You see, he feels like Ivan Born under the Brixton sun His game is called survivin' At the end of the harder they come You know it means no mercy They caught him with a gun No need for the Black Maria Goodbye to the Brixton sun You can crush us You can bruise us Yes, even shoot us But oh-the guns of Brixton When they kick at your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head Or on the trigger of your gun You can crush us You can bruise us Yes, even shoot us But oh-the guns of Brixton Shot down on the pavement Waiting in death row His game is called survivin' As in heaven as in hell You can crush us You can bruise us But you'll have to answer to Oh, the guns of Brixton This song. God damn. I've been listening to it repeatedly. The one paragraph that starts with "When they kick at your front door..." is so god damn poignant. It sums everything up nicely. Iraq. America. Spain. Whereever. Its applicable. How will you go? Think about it. On top of the lyrics the song fucking rules...the percussion, with ample volume, in the car. Rules.