Only A Pawn In Their Game

	  		

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A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood. 
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A finger fired the trigger to his name. 
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A     handle hid out in the dark 
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A hand set the spark 
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Two eyes took the aim 
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Behind a man's brain 
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But he can't be blamed 
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He's only a pawn in their game. 

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A South politician preaches to the poor white man, 
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"You got more than the blacks, don't complain. 
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You're better than them, you been born with white skin," they explain. 
And the Negro's name 
Is used it is plain 
For the politician's gain 
As he rises to fame 
And the poor white remains 
On the caboose of the train 
But it ain't him to blame 
He's only a pawn in their game. 

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid, 
And the marshals and cops get the same, 
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool. 
He's taught in his school 
From the start by the rule 
That the laws are with him 
To protect his white skin 
To keep up his hate 
So he never thinks straight 
'Bout the shape that he's in 
But it ain't him to blame 
He's only a pawn in their game. 

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks, 
And the hoof beats pound in his brain. 
And he's taught how to walk in a pack 
Shoot in the back 
With his fist in a clinch 
To hang and to lynch 
To hide 'neath the hood 
To kill with no pain 
Like a dog on a chain 
He ain't got no name 
But it ain't him to blame 
He's only a pawn in their game. 

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught. 
They lowered him down as a king. 
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But when the shadowy sun sets on the one 
That fired the gun 
He'll see by his grave 
On the stone that remains 
Carved next to his name 
His epitaph plain: 
Only a pawn in their game.