Buses round The White House
Cutting off our impassioned pleas
President don't talk to you
He don't like what he sees
Blood like dye in water
Colors the Reflecting Pool
And I gasp as clubs are beating
I've become the nation's tool
Veterans of Vietnam
Generation of slaves
Priest in Northern Ireland
Filling empty graves
Tinted windows
White House turned to black
Get aboard the bus, boy
You won't be coming back
Picket signs are carried
Like clubs in angry war
Protesters losing sight of things
That they've been fighting for
Bloody battles fought
By men who cannot drink
Make them kill a man
Then vomit in the sink
Born on Independence Day
Future bright as gold
See my battered face
In the shiny metals that I've sold
Tinted windows
White House turned to black
Get aboard the bus, boy
You won't be coming back
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