There's few 'round here cares what I say
cuz I'm a homeless drunk.
But I--I saw it all that day
the white cop shot that punk.

Them boys come strolling down the street
and laugh like they done scored.
If they saw me, t'was just bare feet
stuck out of old card board.

An SUV goes cruising by
and stops as they both stare.
And then I hear the white cop cry,
" . . . the sidewalk over there!"

That's when the big boy crudely said,
"Fuck what you have to say!"
I would have filled him then with lead.
That cop just turned away.

I saw Mike Brown, the bigger kid,
begin that fatal fight.
All hell broke loose from what they did
and nothin' since been right.

Brown reached inside to punch the cop
and tried to grab his gun.
There were two shots, I saw him stop
and turn away to run.

As he lurched west, his friend went east.
The cop chased after Brown
who cursed and howled, a snarling beast
before he spun around.

Brown raised his arms, I'm not sure why,
and then came charging back.
"Stop . . . now!" I heard that white cop cry.
Oh, yeah, his voice did crack.

The cop fired shots . . . then even more
while screaming, "Halt, man, halt!"
Saw sev'ral wounds, say three or four.
Brown died, but t'was his fault.

That jury said, "Come testify,"
but found scant evidence.
When they refused to try that guy,
things here in town grew tense.

Enraged, some Blacks blew off the lid,
"That jury won't indict
the killer of an unarmed kid
because the cop was white."

They screamed those words while pillaging
the stores of Ferguson,
but after riots, everything,
the chaos, it ain't done.

I marched with Martin Luther King
who dreamed of harmony.
What happened here will only bring
much pain, more misery.