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(Phil Ochs)

In the state of Mississippi many years ago
A boy of fourteen years got a taste of Southern law.
He saw his friend a-hangin', his color was his crime.
The blood upon his jacket put a brand upon his mind.

Too many martyrs and too many dead
Too many lies, too many empty words were said,
Too many times for too many angry men,
Oh, let it never be again.

His name was Medgar Evers and he walked his road alone,
Like Emmett Till and thousands more whose names we'll never know;
They tried to burn his home, and they beat him to the ground,
But deep inside they both knew what it took to bring him down.

The killer waited by his home, hidden by the night,
As Evers stepped out from his car into the rifle sight;
He slowly squeezed the trigger, the bullet left his side,
It struck the heart of every man when Evers fell and died.

They laid him in his grave while the bugle sounded clear,
They laid him in his grave when victory was near.
While we waited for the future with the wisdom of our plans,
The country gained a killer, and the country lost a man.

Words by Ochs; Music by Ochs & Bob Gibson
Copyright 1963 Appleseed Music, Inc.
Rec.on "All the News that's Fit to Sing" Elektra EKS-7269
@political @murder
filename[ MNYMRTYR

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Too Many Martyrs [Ochs]


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