Desmond Dekker — Israelites Edit

Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir So that every mouth can be fed Poor me, the Israelite. Aah Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir So that every mouth can be fed Poor me, the Israelite. Aah My wife and my kids, they are packed up and leave me Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen Poor me, the Israelite. Aah Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde Poor me, the Israelite. Aah After a storm there must be a calm They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm Poor me, the Israelite. Aah Poor me, the Israelite I wonder who I'm working for Poor me, Israelite I look a-down and out, sir