Napalm Death - I'm Retching On The Dirt текст песни

I'm retching on the dirt,
it's earthiness coating my throat.

I'm wincing on
the bitterest pill.
I refuse to swallow.

I'm offered the warmth of a velvet glove,
an iron fist to some.

I'm treated like a scab.
A traitor to my kind.

I'm hounded by
white-right
might
that wants the country pure.
I'm incensed by those in awe
of living amongst their own .

Selective perfection
will cut their own throats !

I'm constantly
forcing the point,
but we're all retching
on dirt,
and we'll choke
if we don't spit it out !