When they kick at your front door, how you gonna come?
With your hands on your head or on the trigger of your gun
When the law break in, how you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement or waiting on death row
You can crush us, you can bruise us
But you’ll have to answer to, oh, the guns of Brixton
The money feels good and your life you like it well
But surely your time will come as in heaven, as in hell
You see, he feels like Ivan, born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin’ at the end of the harder they come
You know it means no mercy, they caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria, goodbye to the Brixton sun
(Os protestos de Brixton, na Inglaterra, ecoam em Baltimore…)