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A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A 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
A south politician preaches to the poor white man
"You got more than the blacks, don't complain
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 the rule
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
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