It's time-o, time-o, time-o, time that we are changing;
It's time-o, time-o; time-o, time we're moving on.
Repeat
It used to be a woman's place, right inside her kitchen,
Caring for a throng of kids, to teach them right and wrong -
But now the world is very fulls we can't have all those babies,
To add to the problem, we're living twice as long.
It used to be a woman's place to cheer on her soldier,
While men went off to battlefields and courts to plan the war,
We're tired of all the bombs and guns, the burned earth and killing
To hell with all. that cheering, and down with the courts of war.
It used to be a woman's place to inspire great songs of beauty,
And paintings rare and poems of love - art of every kind -
But give me paint and canvass - a pen and ink for writing -
Move over now, Picasso, dear, make room for womankind.
It used to be a woman's place to do what others told her.
Pappas mamma, husband, boss all in an endless line -
I hate to break with precedent, but I hear a voice inside me,
And if they have to rule some life, hell, no, it won't be mine.
It used to be a woman's place to cry when folks were starving -
To wring her hands and gather cans to send across the town,
Yet folks of wealth all wine and dine and wheat lies a rotting,
The devil takes these foolish laws - let's pass the food around
It's time-o, time-o; time-o, time we're moving on.
Repeat
It used to be a woman's place, right inside her kitchen,
Caring for a throng of kids, to teach them right and wrong -
But now the world is very fulls we can't have all those babies,
To add to the problem, we're living twice as long.
It used to be a woman's place to cheer on her soldier,
While men went off to battlefields and courts to plan the war,
We're tired of all the bombs and guns, the burned earth and killing
To hell with all. that cheering, and down with the courts of war.
It used to be a woman's place to inspire great songs of beauty,
And paintings rare and poems of love - art of every kind -
But give me paint and canvass - a pen and ink for writing -
Move over now, Picasso, dear, make room for womankind.
It used to be a woman's place to do what others told her.
Pappas mamma, husband, boss all in an endless line -
I hate to break with precedent, but I hear a voice inside me,
And if they have to rule some life, hell, no, it won't be mine.
It used to be a woman's place to cry when folks were starving -
To wring her hands and gather cans to send across the town,
Yet folks of wealth all wine and dine and wheat lies a rotting,
The devil takes these foolish laws - let's pass the food around
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Album: Honor Thy Womanself 1973
Parole e musica di Carolyn McDade
Pubblicata su Broadside 126