One Eighty-Seven Lyrics – The Mourning Sickness
Singer: The Mourning Sickness
Title: One Eighty-Seven
Sneaking in across the border
Your money and your wealth
Do you think I came all this way
Just for my mental health?
I do the things you will not do
For less than minimum wage
Your promises that hard work pays
Instead, I’m made a slave
Shipped across the borderlands
In the back of boss’s bus
Work all night, work all day
Do anything we must
Some pennies here, pennies there
Perhaps we’ll eat today
For centuries we’ve tilled these plains
The food picked from our graves
All this land, stolеn now
But still, we call it home
The childrеn you hear screaming
Born here, they are your own
To them today you punish us
Stolen once again
The open sores are bleeding
The salt you rub it in
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Lyrics The Mourning Sickness – One Eighty-Seven
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