Teléfonos/White Trash

Night is down in insect town
I'm sitting here glued to the glowing tube
Tedious, tedium, flowing slow
I'm crying for something I could really use
We're worker ants, or ants with wings
Saying "God I'm high" or "Christ, I'm late"

Asking girls and women
"Won't you show us the way
To crumple sheets and naughtier things? "
But it's sad, so sad
The old people never had not quite so bad
(not this way, anyway)

And it,s sad, sad, sad
The sadness of a long dead star on late night TV
The sadness of shooting away your bloom
And of old crumpled men in their workday suits

And telephones ringing in empty rooms
All the birs have flown from the uptown
And a family I know has built an ark
It's been raining long in a steady flow
And newspaper headlines read bad and stark
But is sad, so sad
The old people never had not quite so bad.
Ska, ska

People of Babylon, if you want to be wrong
You've got to be strong
If not you'll go down
Down, down down

You can bite the hands that feeds you
Spit in the face of those who needs you
But when you're old, who is gonna feed you
When you're on your own?

I hear my black brothers every day
Saying how they've been put down in so many ways
Well, what about us Rasta?

Some of us been treated just the same way
I look around and all I see is
White trash in a Babylon
White trash in a London
White trash right here in Buenos Aires town
Ska, ska

People of the Argentine
You eat your meat everyday
And you dress so fine
What about your brothers in Africa
Dying, starving
All of the time?
Well you can bite the hand

I look around and all I see is
White trash in Birmingham
White trash in Twinckenham
White trash where I live in Hurlingham.