They tell us that we're savages
who haven't got a hope
We're burning in the furnaces,
we're choking at the smoke
They say we haven't got a choice,
refuse to recognize our voice
Yet they enjoy comissions
from the proceeds of the joke

Those b___erfly Boys
at play with their toys
Stinging like bees
itching like fleas
b___erfly Boys
you got the toys
You got the breeze
we cought the freeze
b___erfly Boys give us a break
We got the groceries you got the cake

They tell us that we're savages
who cannot understand
We're sailing on a sinking ship,
we're swimming in the sand
They put their fingers in their ears,
refuse to recognize our fears
And fly off to Jamaica
when we call them underhand

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