my thirty thousand

paul robeson he's the man, that faced the ku klux klan, on hollow grove's golfing ground, his words came sounding, and all around him there, to jump and clap and cheer, i sent the best, the best i had, my thirty thousand, the klansman leader said, that paul would lose his head, when thirty five thousand vets, broke up that concert, but less than four thousand came, to side with the klan, but around paul's lonesome oak, my thirty thousand, a beersoaked brassy band, did snortle 'round the grounds, four hundred noblest souls, westchester's manhood, and they looked exactly like, fleas on a tiger's back, lost fish in the waters of, my thirty thousand, when paul had sung and gone, and the kids and babies home, cops came with guns and clubs, and clubbed and beat 'em, i'd hate to be a cop, caught with a bloody stick, 'cause you can't bash the brains, out of thirty thousand, each eye you tried to gouge, each skull you tried to crack, has a thousand thousand friends, around this green grass, if you furnish the skull someday, i'll pass out the clubs and guns, to the billion hands that love, my thirty thousand, each wrinkle on your face, i know it at a glance, you cannot run and hide, nor duck nor dodge them, and your carcass and your deeds, will fertilize the seeds, of the men that stood to guard, my thirty thousand, of the men that stood to guard, my thirty thousand