Back in the days of ancient Rome,
Ol’ Nero had a ball
Eatin’ and drinkin’ and sittin’ on a throne
Down at the City Hall.
His belly was big and his bottom was wide
His mouth was wet but the city was dry.
He sat on his pyre, playin' on his lyre
While the people sang an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Louis was the King of France
A long, long time ago.
With a turkey-leg in his royal hand
The people loved him so.
But Marie Antoinette got them all upset.
They had no bread to bake, she said,
"Let them eat cake!"
So they cooked up a meal on the old Bastille,
Singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Mr. Charlie had a farm
Back in slavery days.
With a marble pillar on the ol’ front porch
And gentile southern ways.
But the overseer was a little queer
With a gun on his hip, and a big bull whip
But he couldn't catch a black boy's match
And the people sang an old-time song…
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
The shops and stores were locked and barred
In old Los Angeles.
The owners slept in their downy beds
Beneath the suburban trees.
The wood was dry and the heat was high.
“While the man's in bed we're gonna get some bread."
Charlie's cops heard the people of Watts
Singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
That's the way the money goes
Ever since the cave-man times.
A rich man rides on the poor men's backs
Til they burn him for his crimes.
So when your cash has been turned to ash
And the cinders fall from your as bedroom wall,
In the far-off heat of a Harlem street
They'll be singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Ol’ Nero had a ball
Eatin’ and drinkin’ and sittin’ on a throne
Down at the City Hall.
His belly was big and his bottom was wide
His mouth was wet but the city was dry.
He sat on his pyre, playin' on his lyre
While the people sang an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Louis was the King of France
A long, long time ago.
With a turkey-leg in his royal hand
The people loved him so.
But Marie Antoinette got them all upset.
They had no bread to bake, she said,
"Let them eat cake!"
So they cooked up a meal on the old Bastille,
Singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Mr. Charlie had a farm
Back in slavery days.
With a marble pillar on the ol’ front porch
And gentile southern ways.
But the overseer was a little queer
With a gun on his hip, and a big bull whip
But he couldn't catch a black boy's match
And the people sang an old-time song…
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
The shops and stores were locked and barred
In old Los Angeles.
The owners slept in their downy beds
Beneath the suburban trees.
The wood was dry and the heat was high.
“While the man's in bed we're gonna get some bread."
Charlie's cops heard the people of Watts
Singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
That's the way the money goes
Ever since the cave-man times.
A rich man rides on the poor men's backs
Til they burn him for his crimes.
So when your cash has been turned to ash
And the cinders fall from your as bedroom wall,
In the far-off heat of a Harlem street
They'll be singin' an old-time song...
Burn, baby, burn!
Burn, baby, burn!
Every flame breaks another chain
So burn, baby, burn!
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2017/11/29 - 08:59
×
![]()
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
Parole e musica di Bill Frederick, pseudonimo usato in gioventù dal cantautore statunitense Fred Stanton
Una canzone che non credo sia mai stata incisa su disco. Il testo fu pubblicato sul n. 73 di Broadside Magazine, agosto 1966.
Una canzone dedicata ai Watts Riots dell’agosto 1965, quando nel sobborgo losangelino di Watts si scatenarono violentissimi tumulti razziali che durarono 6 giorni e causarono 34 morti, centinaia di feriti e danni per oltre 40 milioni di dollari, con quasi 1.000 edifici distrutti o gravemente danneggiati dagli incendi. E tutto a partire da un banale controllo di polizia…
A proposito dei Watts Riots si vedano anche Trouble Every Day e In The Heat Of The Summer