| E |
| E | |
| In the shit house, a shotgun |
| E | |
| Praying hands hold me down |
| E | |
| Only the hunter was hunted |
| E | |
| In this tin can town, tin can town |
| E | |
| No stars in the black night |
| E | |
| Looks like the sky fall down |
| E | |
| No sun in the daylight |
| E | |
| Looks like it's chained to the ground, chained to the ground. |
| E | |
| The warden said, |
| A | |
| "The | exit is sold," |
| B | E | |
| If you | want a way out |
| Silver and gold. |
| E | A | E | |
| Broken back to the ceiling |
| E | A | E | |
| Broken nose to the floor |
| A | E | |
| I scream at the sounds, it's coming |
| E | A | E | |
| Crawls under the door |
| A | E | |
| There's a rope around my neck and | there's a |
| E | A | E | |
| Trigger in your gun |
| A | E | |
| Jesus say something! |
| E | |
| I am someone! I am someone! |
| E | |
| I am someone! |
| E | A | |
| Captains and kings | in the slave ships hold |
| B | E | |
| They | came to collect |
| E | |
| Silver and gold |
| E | |
| Silver and gold |
| E | |
| Seen them coming and going |
| E | |
| Seen them captains and the kings |
| E | |
| Seen them navy blue uniforms |
| E | |
| Seen them bright and shiny things, bright shiny things, yeah! |
| E | A | E | |
| The temperature is rising |
| A | E | |
| The fever white hot |
| E | A | E | |
| Mister I ain't got nothing | But it's |
| A | E | |
| More than you've got |
| E | A | E | |
| Chains no longer bind me |
| A | E | |
| Nor the shackles at my feet |
| E | A | E | |
| Outside are the prisoners |
| A | E | |
| Inside the free, | set them | free |
| E | A | E | |
| Set them free |
| E | A | |
| A prize fighter in a | corner is told |
| B | E | |
| Hit where it hurts | -- silver and gold |
| Silver and gold. |
| E | |
| "Yep. Silver and gold. |
| E | |
| This song was written in a hotel room in New York City. |
| E | |
| Right about the time a friend of ours, little Steven, |
| E | |
| Was pulling together a record of artists against Apartheid. |
| E | |
| It's a song written about a man, in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg. |
| E | |
| A man who's sick of looking down the barrel of White South Africa. |
| E | |
| A man at the point where he is ready to take up arms against his oppressor. |
| E | |
| A man who's lost faith in the peace makers of the West. |
| E | |
| While they argue and while they fail to support a man like Bishop Tutu. |
| E | |
| And his request for economic sanctions against South Africa. |
| E | |
| Am I bugging you? I don't mean to bug ya'. |
| E | |
| Okay Edge, play the blues." |
| E | |