bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers` blood. 
finger fired the trigger to his name. 
handle hid out in the dark 
hand set the spark 
Two eyes took the aim 
Behind a man`s brain 
But he can`t be blamed 
He`s only a pawn in their game. 

South politician preaches to the poor white man, 
`You got more than the blacks, [bad word]  
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 [bad word] 
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. 
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.