| Song | Freedom Is Like Gold |
| Artist | Andy M. Stewart |
| Album | Dublin Lady |
| 作词 : Stewart | |
| There's many who talk of | |
| Freedom And we have some it's true | |
| But if you think it's fairly shared around | |
| Then you don't have a clue, | |
| No you just don't have a clue. | |
| Freedom oh | |
| Freedom while men are bought and sold | |
| You're free if you've plenty of money boys | |
| For freedom is like gold. | |
| Freedom is like gold. | |
| She's young and she's a mother | |
| Her man is out on the town | |
| Her life reads like a lousy book | |
| But she can't put it down | |
| No, she just can't put it down. | |
| Apartheid in | |
| South Africa | |
| Is everything that's vile | |
| In this land of inequality | |
| Slavery's in style | |
| Slavery's in style. | |
| Have you ever been in | |
| CND. And are you a union man? | |
| If you stood at the | |
| Mine in the picket line | |
| You may never work again. | |
| You may never work again. | |
| And the rich folk they have plenty | |
| While the poor folk they have none | |
| But who must die when the bullets fly? | |
| It's the poor man and his son | |
| The poor man and his son. |
| zuò cí : Stewart | |
| There' s many who talk of | |
| Freedom And we have some it' s true | |
| But if you think it' s fairly shared around | |
| Then you don' t have a clue, | |
| No you just don' t have a clue. | |
| Freedom oh | |
| Freedom while men are bought and sold | |
| You' re free if you' ve plenty of money boys | |
| For freedom is like gold. | |
| Freedom is like gold. | |
| She' s young and she' s a mother | |
| Her man is out on the town | |
| Her life reads like a lousy book | |
| But she can' t put it down | |
| No, she just can' t put it down. | |
| Apartheid in | |
| South Africa | |
| Is everything that' s vile | |
| In this land of inequality | |
| Slavery' s in style | |
| Slavery' s in style. | |
| Have you ever been in | |
| CND. And are you a union man? | |
| If you stood at the | |
| Mine in the picket line | |
| You may never work again. | |
| You may never work again. | |
| And the rich folk they have plenty | |
| While the poor folk they have none | |
| But who must die when the bullets fly? | |
| It' s the poor man and his son | |
| The poor man and his son. |