In the [bad word]  a shotgun 
Praying hands hold me down
Only the hunter was hunted 
In this tin can town, tin can town

No stars in the black night
Looks like the sky fell down
No sun in the daylight
Looks like it's chained to the ground 
Chained to the ground
The warden said 
The exit is sold
If you want a way out
Silver and gold

Broken back to the ceiling
Broken nose to the floor
I scream at the silence, it's crawling
It crawls under the door
There's a rope around my neck
And there's a trigger in your gun
Jesus say something
I am someone, I am someone
I am someone

Captain and kings
In the ships hold
They came to collect
Silver and gold
Silver and gold

Seen [bad word] and going
Seen them captains and kings
See them navy blue uniforms
See them bright and shiny things
Bright and shiny things, yeah

The temperature is rising
The fever white hot
Mister, I ain't got nothing
But it's more than you got

Chains no longer bind me
Not the shackles at my feet
Outside are the prisoners
Inside the free
Set them free
Set them free

prize fighter in a corner is told
Hit where it hurts 
Silver and gold
Silver and gold

"Yep, silver and gold.
This song was written in a hotel room in New York City.
'Round about the time a friend or ours, little Steven, 
was putting together a record of artists against apartheid.
This is a song written about a man in a shanty town outside of Johannesburg.
man who's sick of looking down the barrel of white South Africa.
man who is at the point where he is ready to take up arms 
against his oppressor.
man who has lost faith in the peacemakers of the west while 
they argue and while they fail to support a man like bishop Tutu 
and his request for economic sanctions against South Africa.

I buggin' you? 
I don't mean to bug ya.

Ok Edge, play the blues."