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Gil Scott-Heron
Gil Scott-Heron


Информация
Настоящее имя Gilbert Scott-Heron
Дата рождения 1 апреля 1949 г.
Место рождения Chicago, Illinois, U.S.
Жанры Soul
Годы 1969—н.в.
Лейблы Arista Records
RCA Records
TVT Records
См. также Brian Jackson



Альбом Gil Scott-Heron


Ghetto Style (1998)
1998
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
Middle of Your Day
11.
12.
13.
14.
Lady Day & John Coltrane
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
Small Talk At 125th & Lenox
20.
21.
. . .


You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

. . .


I sail out on my paper ship
The sea is made of fire
I ride my horse of nuts and bolts
We made to never tire

The world is just a simple circle
I've got to keep on turning, yeah
I've got to keep on turning
'Til I fall

Down to the top of a mountain
Inside a hollow stone
I pretend that I'm an iron man, yeah
Instead of flesh and bone

The world is just a simple circle
And it keep on turning, yeah
And it keep on turning
You've got to

Go away
I can't stand to see your face
Cause you've seen the weakest me
And now you know I'm only human
Instead of all the things I'd like to be

The world is just a simple circle
You've got to keep on turning, yeah
You've got to keep on turning
Or down you fall

. . .


A circle spinning faster
And getting larger all the time
A whirlpool spelled disaster
For all the people who don't rhyme

Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand
Understand, understand, understand

A brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And leave the hate and fear behind

All the millions spent for killing
Seems the whole world must be dying
All the children who go hungry
How much food we could be buying

Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand
Understand, understand, understand

A brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And the leave the hate and fear behind

People wake up every morning
And simply push their lives aside
They seem to carry all their feelings
Crushed and crumbled up inside
Inside, inside, inside

Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him who just don't understand

So I went to see my father
Many questions on my mind
But he didn't want to answer me
God, the whole world must be blind

Him who don't fit through the needle's eye
Him may someday go insane
Insane, insane, insane

Without a brand new sense of freedom
A brand new sense of time
Him may go and stand alone now
And leave the hate and fear behind, yeah, behind

. . .


I'm gonna take myself a piece of sunshine
And paint it all over my sky
Be no rain..
Be no rain..

I'm gonna take the song from every bird
And make em sing it just for me
Bird's got something to teach us all
About being free, yeah
Be no rain..
Be no rain..

And I think I'll call it morning
From now on
Why should I survive on sadness?
And tell myself I got to be alone
Why should I subscribe to this world's madness?
Knowing that I've got to live on
Yeah I think I'll call it morning
From now on

I'm gonna take myself a piece of sunshine
And paint it all over my sky
Be no rain...
Be no rain...

I'm gonna take the song from every bird
And make them sing it just for me
Cause why should I hang my head
Why should I let tears fall from my eyes?
When I've seen everything there is to see
And I know there is no sense in crying
I know there ain't no sense in crying
Yeah I think I'll call it morning
From now on
I'll call it morning from now on, yeah

Cause there ain't gonna be no rain
Be no rain
Be no rain
From now on...

. . .


You always go out of your way to impress me
Don't you know by now, ain't no need to impress me
I'm impressed every time you smile
When I feel like you mean to smile

You can be so very beautiful
When you are who you are

Every morning when you wake up you put on a new disguise
How long did you long did you think it would take me to realize?
Girl, the things you wore ain't real
You never tell me just how you feel

Girl you can be so very beautiful
When you are who you are

People never seem to want to be themselves
So they end up running in circles confused
Yeah, confused
Just like everyone else

Every morning when you wake up you put on a new disguise
Just how long did you think it would take me to realize
That the things you wore ain't real
You never tell me just how you feel

When you could be so very beautiful
When you are who you are
Yeah, when you are who you are, yeah
Oh, when you are who you are, yeah
When you are who you are, yeah
When you are who you are
Get it, get it, get it, get it, get it, get it, get it

When you are who you are, yeah
Oh when you are who you are, yeah
Oh when you are who you are, yeah
Oh when you are who you are

. . .


If you're driving through the country on a lazy afternoon
Or you're watching your children playin' after school
They seem to be so unaware of I know I know
The things that they soon have to take care of

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
Right now they seem to play such a small part of
The things that they soon be right at the heart of

My little Tommy he said he wants to be a fireman
And little Mary she said she got to teach at school
If we know or we say we know about the problems ohohoh
Why can't we do something to try and solve them

We got to do something yeah to save the children
Soon it will be their test to try and save the world
We got to do something yeah to save the children
To save the children
To save the children

. . .


Gil Scott-Heron

Did you hear what they said,
Did you hear what they said,
Did you hear what they said,
They said another brother's dead,
They said he's dead...but he can't be buried,
They said he's dead...but he can't be buried,
Come on, come on,come on,come on
this can't be real.

Did you hear what they said,
Did you hear what they said,
Did you hear what they said,
They said,they shot him in his head,
a shot in the head to save his country,
a shot in the head to save his country,
Come on, come on,come on,come on
this can't be real.

Did you hear what they said,
Yeah did you hear what they said,
Did you hear what they said,
About his mother and how she cried,
They said she cried,'cause her only son was dead
They said she cried,'cause her only son was dead
Woman,could you imagine if your only son was dead
And somebody told you,he couldn't be buried,
hey,hey,come on,come on,come on,come on
this can't be real.

. . .


Find a shadow cast by rainbows
There you'll meet the sage.
Feeding rabbits bits of lettuce or cleaning out the cage.
He can give you more direction than you've ever known.
Show you your bronzed baby shoes
Now, my how you have grown!
Ain't it nice to fly? You're waving as soft clouds go by,
But Peace won't be still of its own free will.
Say you want to go exploring; you got to find some truth.
Can't stand one more day of Christians shouting down at you.
You say you don't dig politics that never was your bag.
People who could run for office wave their private flag.
Ain't it nice to fly? You're waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won't be still of its own free will
Ain't it nice to fly? You're waving as soft clouds go by,
But peace won't be still of its own free will.

. . .


Speed on by, don't seem to have the time
What about this life?
What about this life?
Can I come by?

Issues in the paper (somehow I'm not concerned)
Seems that I've been here before
Here before, but I never learn

Children
Slowly turn

Time stay gone, we never saw it go
Now what do we have?
Now what do we have, that we may show?
Friends you swore you'd never lose (melted from your style)
Down the tunnels of your youth, of your youth,
Now you never smile
Children
Learn to smile

. . .

Middle of Your Day

[Нет текста]

. . .


Jagged jigsaw pieces
Tossed about the room
I saw my grandma sweeping
With her old straw broom
She didn't know what she was doing
She could hardly understand
That she was really sweeping up..
Pieces of a man

I saw my daddy greet the mailman
And I heard the mailman say
"Now don't you take this letter to heart now Jimmy
Cause they've laid off nine others today"
He didn't know what he was saying
He could hardly understand
That he was only talking to
Pieces of a man

I saw the thunder and heard the lightning!
And felt the burden of his shame
And for some unknown reason
He never turned my way

Pieces of that letter
Were tossed about that room
And now I hear the sound of sirens
Come knifing through the gloom
They don't know what they are doing
They could hardly understand
That they're only arresting
Pieces of a man

I saw him go to pieces
I saw him go to pieces
He was always such a good man
He was always such a strong man
Yeah, I saw him go to pieces
I saw him go to pieces

. . .


It's a sign of the ages
Markings on my mind
A Man at the crossroads
At odds with an angry sky

There can be no salvation
There can be no rest
Until all old customs
Are put to the test

The gods are all angry
You hear from the breeze
As night slams like a hammer
Yeah, and you drop to your knees

The questions can't be answered
You're always haunted by the past
The world's full of children
Who grew up too fast

Yeah, but where can you run
Since there ain't no world of your own
And you know that no one will ever miss you, yeah yeah yeah
When you're finally gone

So you cry like a baby, a baby
Or you go out and get high
But there ain't no peace on Earth, man
Maybe peace when you die, yeah

. . .


I know you think you're cool
Lord if they bus your kids to school
I know you think you're cool
Just cuz they bus your kids to school
But you ain't got a thing to lose
You just got the get out of the ghetto blues
I know you think you're cool
If you're gettin' two WELFARE checks
You done told me you think you're cool
Because you're gettin' two WELFARE checks
Yea but you got ten years to lose (if they catch you)
Just tryin' to fight that get out of the ghetto blues
If he don't catch you in the wash
Lord knows he'll catch you in the rinse
I know you think you're cool
Just cuz you shooting that stuff in your arm
I seen you nodding
Cuz you shoot that stuff in your arm
And it don't matter which pine box you choose
You got the get out of the ghetto blues

. . .

Lady Day & John Coltrane

[Нет текста]

. . .


A junkie walking through the twilight
I'm on my way home
I left three days ago, but no one seems to know I'm gone
Home is where the hatred is
Home is filled with pain and it,
might not be such a bad idea if i never, never went home again

stand as far away from me as you can and ask me why
hang on to your rosary beads
close your eyes to watch me die
you keep saying, kick it, quit it, kick it, quit it
God, but did you ever try
to turn your sick soul inside out
so that the world, so that the world
can watch you die

home is where I live inside my white powder dreams
home was once an empty vacuum that's filled now with my silent screams
home is where the needle marks
try to heal my broken heart
and it might not be such a bad idea if I never, if I never went home again
home again
home again
home again
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, quit it
kick it, can't go home again

. . .


You explained it to me I must admit
But just for the record you were talkin' shit
Y'all rap about no knock bein' legislated
For the people you've always hated
In this hell hole you, we, call home

No knock, the man will say
To keep that man from beating his wife
No knock, the man will say
To protect people from themselves

No knockin', head-rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white
No knock

No knocked on my brother Fred Hampton
Bullet holes all over the place
No knocked on my brother Michael Harris
And jammed a shotgun against his skull

For my protection?
Who's gonna protect me from you?
The likes of you?
The nerve of you?
Your tomato face deadpan
Your dead hands ending another freedom fan

No knockin', head rockin', inter-shockin'
Shootin', cussin', killin', cryin', lyin'
And bein' white

But if you're wise, no knocker
You'll tell your no-knockin' lackeys
Ha!
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head
No knock on my brother's head
No knock on my sister's head

And double lock your door
Because soon someone may be no-knockin'
Ha, ha!
For you

(No knock: To be slipped into John Mitchell's suggestion box.)

. . .


You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

. . .


I was doin' it when I was a colored boy of eight or nine or ten
I had never heard of Sigmund Freud but hell I was doin' it then
I was doin' it in my teenaged years when I was running the ghetto streets
Now I had never seen me no ink blot test but it still felt good to me
I was doin' it when I arrived in college searching for my degree
But Lord knows a degree wasn't all I got and that's the way it's supposed to be
I hope that when I have kids of my own they really don't get shook
When I tell them that there are things they've got to learn that can't be found in books.

. . .

Small Talk At 125th & Lenox

[Нет текста]

. . .


Brothers and sisters there is a place for you in America
Places are being prepared and readied night and day, night and day
The white boy's plan is being readied night and day, night and day
Listen close to what rap say bout traps like Allenwood P.A.
Already in D.C. to preventatively detain you and me
How long you think it's going to be before even our dreams ain't free
You think I exaggerate check out Allenwood P.A.
And night and day, night and day - the white boy's plotting night and day, night and day
The Jews and Hitler come to mind
The thought of slavery far behind
But white paranoia is here to stay
The white boy's scheming night and day, night and day
What you think bout the King Alfred Plan
You ain't heard; where you been man
If I may paraphrase the government notice reads:
"Should there at anytime become a clear and present danger initiated by any radical element threatening the operation of the government of th United States of America, members of this radical element shall be tranported to dentention centers until such time as their threat has been eliminated - code KING ALFRED"
Bullshit I bet you say there ain't no Allenwood P.A.
And people ain't waiting night and day, night and day, night and day
There will be without the Motown sound and thunderbird
Wollowing in the echoes of Mlcolm's words
There must be black unity, there must be black unity
For in the end unity will be thrust upon us and we upon it and each other
Lock in cages penned, hemmed in shoulder to shoulder - arms out-stretched
For just a crust of bread,watermelon, mirages and oasis that does not exist
Cuntured up by the bubbling stinch of unwash bodies and unsanitary quarters
Concrete and bobbed-wire, babies screaming
Stumbling around in a mental circle because you never cared enough to be black
In the end unity will be thrust upon us - lanketed, stipled
A salty taste in your mouth from blood oozing from cracks and wooly heads
Red pools becoming thicker than syrup slow down your face
Spurs matte from the life force sprung loose from wells
Welled deep by the enforcers of mock justice of the red, white and blue
In the end unity will be thrust upon us
Let us unite because of love and not hate
Let us unite on our own and not because of bobbed-wired death
You dare not ignore the things I say
Whitey's waiting night and day, night and day, night and day, night and day

. . .


The economy is in an uproar
The whole damn countries is in the red
Tax and fairs are going up
You say, "Billy Green is dead"?
The government can't decide on bussin'
or at least thats what they said

Yea I heard you, when you told me
You said, "Billy Green was dead"
But let me tell you bout these hot-pants that this big legged sister wore
when i partied with the alphas
what?
Billy took an overdose
well now junkies will be junkies
but did you see Gunsmoke last night?
man they had themselves a shootout and folks was dyin' left and right
At the end when Matt was cornerd i had damn near give up hope

What you? Why you keep on interrupting me? you say, My son is taking dope?
Call the law and call the doctor!
What you mean i shouldn't scream?
My only son is taking dope?
Should i sit here like I'm pleased?

Is that familiar anybody?

Check out whats inside your head
Because it never seems to matter
when it's Billy Green who's dead

. . .


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