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On a cold and grey Chicago morning |
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A poor little baby child is born in the ghetto |
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'Cos if there's one thing that she dont need |
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It is another hungry mouth to feed in the ghetto |
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People dont you understand |
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The child needs a helping hand |
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Or he'll gonna be an angry young man some day |
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Take a look at you and me |
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Or do we simply turn our heads and look the other way |
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And a hungry little boy with a runny nose |
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Plays in the street as the cold wind blows in the ghetto |
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So he starts to roam the streets at night |
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And he learns how to steal and he learns how to fight in the ghetto |
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Then one night in desperation the young man breaks away |
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He buys a gun, he steals a car, |
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He tries to run but he dont get far |
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As a crowd gathers round an angry young man |
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Face down in the street with a gun in his hand in the ghetto |
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And as her young man dies... |
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On a cold and grey Chicago morning |
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Another little baby child is born in the ghetto... |
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