My father he rides with your sheriffs And I know he would never mean harm, But to see both sides of a quarrel Is to judge without haste or alarm
Chorus Oh, oh, helpless and slow, And you don't have anywhere to go
You take away homes from the homeless And leave them to die in the cold The gypsy who begged for your presents He will laugh in your face when you're old
(chorus)
Well, one man he drinks up his whiskey Another he drinks up his wine And they'll drink till their eyes are red with hate For those of a different kind
(chorus)
When the rivers run quicker than trouble I'll be there at your side in the flood It was all I could do to keep myself From taking revenge on your blood
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