Marat / Sade - Judy Collins

4 years after the revolution

And the old kings execution

4 years after remember how

Those portia took their final bow

String up every aristocrat

Out with the priests and let then live on their fat

Four years after we started fighting

Marat keeps up with his writing

Four years after the bastille fell

He still recalls the old battle yell

Down with all of the ruling class

Throw all the generals out on their ass

Why do they have the gold

Why do they have the power why why why why why

Do they have the friends at the top

Why do they have the jobs at the top

We’ve got nothing always had nothing

Nothing but holes and millions of them

Living in holes

Dying in holes

Holes in our bellies and

Holes in our clothes

Marat we’re poor

And the poor stay poor

Marat don’t make us wait any more

We want our rights and we don’t care how

We want a revolution

Now

Four years he fought and he fought unafraid

Sniffing down traitors by traitors betrayed

Marat in the courtroom

Marat underground

Sometimes the otter and sometimes the hound

Fighting all the gentry and fighting every priest

The business man the bourgeois the military beast

Marat always ready to stifle every scheme

Of the sons of the ass licking dying regime

We’ve got new generals our leaders are new

They sit and they argue and all that they do

Is sell their own colleagues

And ride upon their backs

Or jail them

Or break them

Or give them all the ax

Screaming in language that no one understand

Of the rights that we grab with our own bleeding hands

When we wiped out the bosses

And stormed threw the wall of the prison you told us would outlast us all

Marat we’re poor

And the poor stay poor

Marat don’t make us wait any more.

We want our rights and we don’t care how

We want a revolution

Now

Poor old marat they hunt you down

The bloodhounds are sniffing all over the town

Just yesterday your printing press was smashed

Now their asking your home address

Poor old Marat in you we trust

You work till your eyes turn as red a rust

But while you write their on your track

The boots mount the staircase

The doors thrown back

Poor old Marat in you we trust

You work till your eyes turn as red a rust

Poor old marat we trust in you

Marat we’re poor

And the poor stay poor

Marat don’t make us wait any more

We want our rights and we don’t care how

We want a revolution

Now