I heard their words; the Bushman’s a art.
Those ballad’s come straight from the heart.
They tell of trial and tribulation;
the deeds that made this, our great Nation.
This is our history, more true than most;
of the glory and the hidden ghost.
It speaks of journeys short and long
and tears poured out in word and song.
But there’s that of which they never speak;
what we destroyed for what we seek.
The Nations crushed beneath our feet;
the cultures we tried to defeat.
The fragile land we’ve left in tatters
Because, to us, only mammon matters.
Still today we talk with pride
and the truth we try to hide;
but there’s a truth that many feel
lies hid beneath our prideful zeal
We’ve left a land that is in tatters;
to us the gold was all that matters.
The land and all can go too Hell
as long as our bank balances swell
and at the trough we all can go;
to drink the blood that we’ve let flow.
This is the pride that is our Nation;
our wealth is this lands devastation.