Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Som


Interface


Nível de dificuldade


Sotaque



Interface de linguagem

pt

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Política de cookies   |   Suporte   |   FAQ
1
cadastre-se / faça login
Lyrkit

doar

5$

Lyrkit

doar

10$

Lyrkit

doar

20$

Lyrkit

E/ou me apoie nas redes sociais. redes:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Phil Ochs

White Boots Maching In A Yellow Land

 

White Boots Maching In A Yellow Land

(álbum: Tape From California - 1968)


The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane
The casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain
And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man
When you're white boots marching in a yellow land

It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn
It's written in the empty bed of the fathers unreturned
And the chocolate in the children's eyes will never understand
When you're white boots marching in a yellow land

Red blow the bugles of the dawn
The morning has arrived you must be gone
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
Like old whores following tired armies

Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side
And never turn your back if the battle turns the tide
For the colours of a civil war are louder than commands
When you're white boots marching in a yellow land

Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight
Tie their hands behind their back and question through the night
But when the firing squad is ready they'll be spitting where they stand
At the white boots marching in a yellow land

Red blow the bugles of the dawn
The morning has arrived you must be gone
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
Like cold whores following tired armies

The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage
Raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage
We're fighting in a war we lost before the war began
We're the white boots marching in a yellow land

And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
Like cold whores following tired armies

feito

Você adicionou todas as palavras desconhecidas dessa música?