The Isralites - Desmond Dekker

Get up in the morning

Slaving for bread, sir

So that every mouth

Can be fed

Poor me, the Israelite

Get up in the morning

Slaving for bread, sir

So that every mouth

Can be fed

Poor me, the Israelite

My wife and my kids

They are packed up and leave me

Darling, she said

I was yours to be seen

Poor me, the Israelite

Shirt them a-tear up

Trousers are gone

I don’t want to end up

Like Bonnie and Clyde

Poor me, the Israelite

After a storm

There must be a calm

They catch me in the farm

You sound the alarm

Poor me, the Israelite

Get up in the morning

Slaving for bread, sir

So that every mouth

Can be fed

Poor me, the Israelite

My wife and my kids

They are packed up and leave me

Darling, she said

I was yours to be seen

Poor me, the Israelite

Shirt them a-tear up

Trousers are gone

I don’t want to end up

Like Bonnie and Clyde

Poor me, Israelite

After a storm

There must be a calm

They catch me in the farm

You sound the alarm

Poor me, Israelite

Poor me, Israelite

Poor me, Israelite

Poor