Only a Pawn in Their Game
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 darkA hand set the sparkTwo eyes took the aimBehind a man's brainBut he can't be blamedHe'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 nameIs used it is plainFor the politician's gainAs he rises to fameAnd the poor white remainsOn the caboose of the trainBut it ain't him to blameHe'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 schoolFrom the start by the ruleThat the laws are with himTo protect his white skinTo keep up his hateSo he never thinks straight'Bout the shape that he's inBut it ain't him to blameHe'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 packShoot in the backWith his fist in a clinchTo hang and to lynchTo hide 'neath the hoodTo kill with no painLike a dog on a chainHe ain't got no nameBut it ain't him to blameHe'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 oneThat fired the gunHe'll see by his graveOn the stone that remainsCarved next to his nameHis epitaph plain:Only a pawn in their game.