I see you with your friends
Hanging out
You're my little man
No doubt
And that's the part
That kinda got me worried
Kids these days
Getting old in a hurry
Everyday gun play
By some crazy mutha
Shooting up schools
For no good reason other
Than they're scared and confused
Life's unfair so they choose
To cock the glock
And make the six o'clock news
Which comes on the box
Right after Jerky Springer
Waving his finger
At some studio ringer
Talk show whore
Making fun of the poor
A punch in the jaw
Crowd roars for more
Like that wrestling federation
It's a negative vibration
Across the nation
Television's on
Pushing 'Leprechaun'
So pull out the plug
And let me tell you something son
Let me tell you where you're from

First thing,
One time we were kings
Under Brehon law
Fair to the weak and the strong
But thugs came in
So called aristocratics
Crossed the sea
Gave us some static
Have you heard before
About Fiach O'Byrne at Glenmalure
Picked up his sword
Showed Lord Gray the door
But An Gorta Mr
Nearly wiped us out
So we were poor
By the time we came out
To Brooklyn, U.S.A.
Worked like slaves
For no pay
Both my Grandfathers
Fought for their due
The I.R.A became the T.W.U.
But once more
Thugs knocked on the door
And once more son
We went to war
For five years in Burma
Da was in the zone
Uncle Andrew,
Uncle Hughie,
They never made it home
So take some time out,
Remember what they done
And let me tell you something son,
Let me tell you where you're from

I see y