Sometimes I wonder why the Empire
cut the wings of my dreams,
why we were considered dead before we were even born,
why is imagination so feared.
Why the embargo on adventure and hope?
Why the disembarking at the beach?
Why such determination in looking after
my safety?
Why does Latin America cause you pain?
Why does the Caribbean boil at the touch of your bullet-proof skin?
And why don't you stay at home,
see if you can sort out your own ghettos.
Soon stars will rain on your neighborhood,
and you will send the army, to cleanse it.
Do not let even a speck of celestial dust remain,
lest the tax payer starts dreaming.
Why does Latin America cause you pain?
Why does the Caribbean boil at the touch of your bullet-proof skin?
And why don't you stay at home,
see if you can sort out your own ghettos.
You dream of another inhabited planet,
so when it becomes all yours you can send there
your soldiers.
And when will you learn that victory is not in you,
that I rather have uncertainty than your order in this world?
Why does Latin America cause you pain?
Why does the Caribbean boil at the touch of your bullet-proof skin?
And why don't you stay at home,
see if you can sort out your own ghettos.
Why don't you stay home?
Why don't you stay home?
Why don't you stay home?
Watch over your pretty American city,
the Harlem could be like Vietnam tomorrow.
I'm not alone saying this,
thousands of voices ask for it. Listen to them.
Why don't you stay home?
Why don't you stay home?
Why don't you stay home?
The clear message from this song
you already know it:
Yankees go home.
