My heart is not clean
Your table is green
To collect my things
The harvest of every man
Is in the can
In a single city, a strand in your hand
Where all your men live to study you
And eat you where you live
Get down
Your table is green
To collect my things
The harvest of every man
Is in the can
In a single city, a strand in your hand
Where all your men live to study you
And eat you where you live
Get down