Allez, une petit retour au sources ne fait jamais de mal ! ♥ ♥ ♥ Une chanson mythique tirée d'un album non moins mythique également. D'ailleurs le mélomane Philippe Manoeuvre a fait une explication de cet album qui est assez intéressante, que je vous conseille de chercher ! ;)
(London Calling, 1979, TRCK 10)
Lyrics
When they kick at your front door, how are you gonna come
With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun
When the law break in, how are you gonna go
Shot down on the pavement or waiting on death row
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
The money feels good, and your life you like it well
But surely your time will come, as in heaven, as in hell
You see, he feels like Ivan born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin'
At the end of the harder they come
You know it means no mercy, they caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria, goodbye to the Brixton sun
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
When they kick at your front door, how are you gonna come
With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun
You can crush us, you can bruise us
Yes, even shoot us, but, oh, the guns of Brixton
Shot down on the pavement, waiting in death row
His game is called survivin', as in heaven, as in hell
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton....
With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun
When the law break in, how are you gonna go
Shot down on the pavement or waiting on death row
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
The money feels good, and your life you like it well
But surely your time will come, as in heaven, as in hell
You see, he feels like Ivan born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin'
At the end of the harder they come
You know it means no mercy, they caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria, goodbye to the Brixton sun
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
When they kick at your front door, how are you gonna come
With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun
You can crush us, you can bruise us
Yes, even shoot us, but, oh, the guns of Brixton
Shot down on the pavement, waiting in death row
His game is called survivin', as in heaven, as in hell
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton....
