Découvert grâce à l’ami Mike, j’avoue adorer l’artiste Michael Franti !

Une voix précise comme un rasoir , une jolie petite guitare… tout ce qu’il faut. Et ça vient d’un album nommé Songs from the front porch

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Paroles :

(chorus)
Oh my, oh my God
out here mama they got us livin’ suicide
singin’ oh my, oh my God
out here mama they got us livin’ genocide

Slam bam I come unseen
but like gasoline you tell I’m in the tank
like money in the bank
I smell appealing, but I’m toxic, can send you reeling
without an inklin’, keep ya thinkin’
‘cause you gave cash to the feds, left your school district for dead
fucked you up in the head, but still they sayin’ nothin’s wrong
still believing the systems workin’
while half of my people are still out of workin’
anonymous notesleft in the pockets and coats
of judges and juries from ‘Frisco and Jersey
threats and protests politicians mob debts
trumped up charges and phony arrests
stage a lethal injection, the night before the election
‘cause he got donations from the prison guard’s union
(chorus)

Listen to my stethoscope on a rope
internal lullabies, human cries
thumps and silence, the language and violence
algorithmic, cataclysmic, seismic, biorhythmic
you can make a life longer, but you can’t save it
you can make a clone and then you try to enslave it?
stealin’ DNA samples from the unborn
and then you comin’ after us
‘cause we sampled a James Brown horn?
scientists who’s God is progress
a four-headed sheep is their latest project
the CIA runin’ like that Jones from Indiana
but they still won’t talk about that Jones in Guyana
this ain’t no cartoon, no one slips on bananas
do you really think that that car killed Diana
hell I shot Ronald Regan, I shot JFK

I slept with Marilyn she sung me “Happy Birthday”
singin’
(chorus)

Well politicians got lipstick on the collar
the whole media started to holler
but I don’t give a fuck who they screwin’ in private
I wanna know who they screwin’ in public
robbin’, cheatin’, stealin’
white collar criminal
McDonald eatin, you deserve a beatin’
send you home a weepin’, with a fat bill for your Caribbean weekend
for just about anything they can bust us
false advertising sayin’ “Halls of Justice”
you tellin’ the youth don’t be so violent
then you drop bombs on every single continent
mandatory minimum sentencin’
‘cause he got caught with a pocket full of medicine
do that again another ten up in the pen
I feel so mad I wanna bomb an institution
singin’
(chorus)