Do ya hear the street talk’n? It’s say’n,
Lord, there’s trouble walk’n over me,
many feet a-stomp’n hard. 
Lord, there’s trouble walk’n over me,
a regiment of boots, blue and green,
are standing over me.
Lord, there’s war march’n over me,
heavy wheels of authority.
Lord, there’s trouble roll’n over me,
sticks and stones, smoke and bullets.
Lord, there’s blood run’n over me,
riots, unrest, tires flaming above.
Lord, there’s fire burn’n over me,
angry people scream’n and chanting.
Lord, there’s hate run’n over me,
statues falling, paint in my face.
Lord, there’s anger walk’n over me.
Lord, I’m just a street—

a flat spread of stone 
marred with blood and tar 
always looking up and see’n 
Your face from afar.