Israelites - Desmond Dekker

Get up in the morning slaving for bread, sir

So that every mouth can be fed

Poor me, israelites

My wife and my kids they are packed up and leave me

Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen

Poor me, israelites

Well, shirt them a tear-up, trousers are gone

I don’t want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde

Poor me, israelites

And after a storm there must be a calm

They catch me in your farm, you sound your alarm

Poor me, israelites

I get up in the morning slaving for bread, sir

So that every mouth can be fed

Poor me, israelites

My wife and my kids they are packed up and leave me

Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen

Poor me, israelites

Shirt them a tear-up, trousers are gone

I don’t want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde

Poor me, israelites

Poor me, israelites

Poor me, israelites

Poor me, israelites

Poor me, israelites