My father he rides with your sheriffs;
And I know he would never mean harm,
But to see both sides of a quarrel
Is to judge without haste or alarm

Oh, oh, helpless and slow,
And you don't have anywhere to go

You take away homes from the homeless
And leave them to die in the cold
The gypsy who begged for your presents
He will laugh in your face when you're old


Well, one man he drinks up his whiskey
Another he drinks up his wine
And they'll drink till their eyes are red with hate
For those of a different kind


When the rivers run quicker than trouble
I'll be there at your side in the flood
It was all I could do to keep myself
From taking revenge on your blood

(2x Chorus)

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