No Rope As Long As Time (Latin Quarter)

Old Afrikaaner farmer on the terrace of his home Sits gently in his rocking chair, gazing at this land He owns. There he sees his memories and there his past There he smiles his grim smile, strokes his gun, swears He'II make it last. Someone brings the whisky, someone serves the meal Like the someone in the township, in the mine and in The fields. Someone at the graveyard, someone with their tears Someone who can't forget the freedom lost these 100 Years. Old man, you can boost about the gun that's by your bed Old man, you can tell me how you're good for all your Kaffirs yet And your guns can fire and your prisons fill And you've yards of rope for hanging still But your guns can shoot and never hit the sky And there's no rope as long as time. Mandela in the prison, Biko in the ground Sharpeville and Soweto voices silenced till the end of Time. Freedom don't come easy, don't come bloodless. don't Come fast But in the hearts of the countless people. No pass law's gonna stop us pass. Sometimes he'II talk of reasons, economy and cause Sometimes he'II even talk of changes Though he clasps the gun and het talks of laws. Gut power ain't this old man's gift And freedom's no reform The old man made the history and the history's made of Wars.