Mylène Farmer

Paroles

THIRD WORLD


yo check this story I’m about to lay down
I’m talking about your hometown
they tell you America’s got it so good
but they ain’t talking about your neighborhood
but I know the word and it goes something like thisss...
broken down buildings and back streets for bathrooms
choking to death on another sweaty afternoon
scheming and dreaming praying for a way out
but your town clown is just a hole they forgot about
day after gray day with no help and no hope
sick of your poverty but their ain’t no antidote
doping to cope but knowing you won’t make it far
and quittin’ ain’t with it cuz the boys they got radar
on the alert to avert your early burial
the street makes your heartbeat pump out in stereo
you ask me yo what’s the home of this freak show
it’s a day in America welcome to the front row

haven’t you heard, haven’t you heard, haven’t you heard we’re living in the third world
(repeat)

Stick smack shoot yourself to sleep
try to take yourself out cuz your in too deep
feels fine for a while but the fun fades away
and you come back crashed to a cancerous new day
dreams down the drain thoughts out of focus
the rich man’s witchcraft does its hocus pocus
can’t concentrate clearly can’t hear me
just need food to feed your poor family
stomach’s screaming no time for dreaming
family to feed that ain’t got no place to live in
sounds like a story from the heart of hungry Africa
but no homeboy it’s from the broken heart of America

Refrain

you know you do what you can to put food on the table
you work on the corner though you know it might be fatal
senses and defenses sharper than a razor’s edge
eyes like a hawk you walk in the darkness
poised at every noise always on the ready
work is now full time no escape no remedy
night and day you got your blade and gage
ready to smoke anybody on a rampage
and hope is just a glimmer growing ever dimmer
of busting this ghetto noise and coming up a winner
cuz crime ain’t sometimes it’s always and forever
a lifetime choke hold you can never sever
and yo what’s the birthplace of this sad scenario
it’s the land of the free homey your living in the capital

Refrain

something comes up that you was just waiting on
back seat bullets in the belly and a pipe bomb
sirens screaming but no one’s seen a thing
patrol car looks and keeps on going
and in pain you wait at the corner
wait for your boys to come they ain’t gonna
alone you groan your way to the hospital
but you got no ID and the place is too full
and so you die with dreams as your memories
of movie scenes with your own happy family
living it up drinking from a gold cup
but that door boy’s just about to close shut
slam boy this story’s over
read your book from cover to cover
dead and gone just one of many
that never got a chance in the land of plenty

Refrain

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