| Song | I Hate the White Man |
| Artist | Roy Harper |
| Album | Flat Baroque and Berserk |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Harper | |
| Far across the ocean | |
| In the land of look and see | |
| There once was a time | |
| For you and me | |
| Where the winds blow sweetly | |
| And the easy seas flow still | |
| And where the barefoot dream of life | |
| Can laugh and cry its fill | |
| Where slot machine confusions | |
| And the plastic universe | |
| Are objects of amusement | |
| In the fiction of their curse | |
| And where the crazy whiteman | |
| And his teargas happiness | |
| Lies dead and long since buried | |
| By his own fantastic mess | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And his plastic excuse | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And the reins of coloured thunder | |
| Of the stallion of the dawn | |
| Ride the coalfire morning | |
| On the beach where all is born | |
| Where the emperor of meaning | |
| Is burning up his forts | |
| And sits to warm his toes around | |
| A fire made up of useless thoughts | |
| And when the children tempt him | |
| With the riddles of their trance | |
| He flings the flames of solstice | |
| Casting laughs into their dance | |
| And while a crazy whiteman | |
| In the desert of his bones | |
| Lies as bleached as the paradise | |
| He likes to think he owns | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And far across the reaches | |
| Of the drifting yellow sands | |
| The living carpet wilderness | |
| Forever joins its hands | |
| With heaven hell's attainment | |
| In a surging crest of fire | |
| Where more than all is thrown upon | |
| The ever lasting pyre | |
| And through the countless canticles | |
| Of Jason's charcoal fleece | |
| Are sung the songs of nothing | |
| In the timeless masterpiece | |
| And there stood in the middle | |
| Guess who? | |
| It's the everlasting burst | |
| Built by god's very own whiteman | |
| As he tries to rule the dust | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his doctrinaire abuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose... | |
| And the bowels of his city | |
| Have been locked into a safe | |
| Where the spew stains on the sidewalks | |
| Are defenders of his faith | |
| While back inside his kitchen | |
| The bowler hatted, long haired saint | |
| Cleans with soap and water | |
| But it's really just white paint | |
| While his golden headed scandal sheets | |
| Present their daily bite | |
| To give their righteous news-bleeders | |
| Drugs to keep them white | |
| While outside in the whitewash | |
| Where the guns are always, always right | |
| A shooting star has summoned | |
| Its dark angel from his night | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| And his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose | |
| And the man who turned him loose... |
| zuo ci : Harper | |
| Far across the ocean | |
| In the land of look and see | |
| There once was a time | |
| For you and me | |
| Where the winds blow sweetly | |
| And the easy seas flow still | |
| And where the barefoot dream of life | |
| Can laugh and cry its fill | |
| Where slot machine confusions | |
| And the plastic universe | |
| Are objects of amusement | |
| In the fiction of their curse | |
| And where the crazy whiteman | |
| And his teargas happiness | |
| Lies dead and long since buried | |
| By his own fantastic mess | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And his plastic excuse | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And the reins of coloured thunder | |
| Of the stallion of the dawn | |
| Ride the coalfire morning | |
| On the beach where all is born | |
| Where the emperor of meaning | |
| Is burning up his forts | |
| And sits to warm his toes around | |
| A fire made up of useless thoughts | |
| And when the children tempt him | |
| With the riddles of their trance | |
| He flings the flames of solstice | |
| Casting laughs into their dance | |
| And while a crazy whiteman | |
| In the desert of his bones | |
| Lies as bleached as the paradise | |
| He likes to think he owns | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And far across the reaches | |
| Of the drifting yellow sands | |
| The living carpet wilderness | |
| Forever joins its hands | |
| With heaven hell' s attainment | |
| In a surging crest of fire | |
| Where more than all is thrown upon | |
| The ever lasting pyre | |
| And through the countless canticles | |
| Of Jason' s charcoal fleece | |
| Are sung the songs of nothing | |
| In the timeless masterpiece | |
| And there stood in the middle | |
| Guess who? | |
| It' s the everlasting burst | |
| Built by god' s very own whiteman | |
| As he tries to rule the dust | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his doctrinaire abuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose... | |
| And the bowels of his city | |
| Have been locked into a safe | |
| Where the spew stains on the sidewalks | |
| Are defenders of his faith | |
| While back inside his kitchen | |
| The bowler hatted, long haired saint | |
| Cleans with soap and water | |
| But it' s really just white paint | |
| While his golden headed scandal sheets | |
| Present their daily bite | |
| To give their righteous newsbleeders | |
| Drugs to keep them white | |
| While outside in the whitewash | |
| Where the guns are always, always right | |
| A shooting star has summoned | |
| Its dark angel from his night | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| And his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose | |
| And the man who turned him loose... |
| zuò cí : Harper | |
| Far across the ocean | |
| In the land of look and see | |
| There once was a time | |
| For you and me | |
| Where the winds blow sweetly | |
| And the easy seas flow still | |
| And where the barefoot dream of life | |
| Can laugh and cry its fill | |
| Where slot machine confusions | |
| And the plastic universe | |
| Are objects of amusement | |
| In the fiction of their curse | |
| And where the crazy whiteman | |
| And his teargas happiness | |
| Lies dead and long since buried | |
| By his own fantastic mess | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And his plastic excuse | |
| For I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And the reins of coloured thunder | |
| Of the stallion of the dawn | |
| Ride the coalfire morning | |
| On the beach where all is born | |
| Where the emperor of meaning | |
| Is burning up his forts | |
| And sits to warm his toes around | |
| A fire made up of useless thoughts | |
| And when the children tempt him | |
| With the riddles of their trance | |
| He flings the flames of solstice | |
| Casting laughs into their dance | |
| And while a crazy whiteman | |
| In the desert of his bones | |
| Lies as bleached as the paradise | |
| He likes to think he owns | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned him loose... | |
| And far across the reaches | |
| Of the drifting yellow sands | |
| The living carpet wilderness | |
| Forever joins its hands | |
| With heaven hell' s attainment | |
| In a surging crest of fire | |
| Where more than all is thrown upon | |
| The ever lasting pyre | |
| And through the countless canticles | |
| Of Jason' s charcoal fleece | |
| Are sung the songs of nothing | |
| In the timeless masterpiece | |
| And there stood in the middle | |
| Guess who? | |
| It' s the everlasting burst | |
| Built by god' s very own whiteman | |
| As he tries to rule the dust | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| In his doctrinaire abuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose... | |
| And the bowels of his city | |
| Have been locked into a safe | |
| Where the spew stains on the sidewalks | |
| Are defenders of his faith | |
| While back inside his kitchen | |
| The bowler hatted, long haired saint | |
| Cleans with soap and water | |
| But it' s really just white paint | |
| While his golden headed scandal sheets | |
| Present their daily bite | |
| To give their righteous newsbleeders | |
| Drugs to keep them white | |
| While outside in the whitewash | |
| Where the guns are always, always right | |
| A shooting star has summoned | |
| Its dark angel from his night | |
| And I hate the whiteman | |
| And his evergreen excuse | |
| Oh I hate the whiteman | |
| And the man who turned you all loose | |
| And the man who turned him loose... |