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Jim: Oh, God!

Californian Weirdo: Sole has no eyes.

Could be Jerusalem, or could be Cairo

Could be Berlin, or could be Prague

Could be Moscow, could be New York

Could be Llanelli, and could be Warrington

Could be Warsaw, and it could be Moose Jaw

Could be Rome

Everybody got somewhere they call home

When they overrun the defences

A minor invasion put down to expenses

Will you go down to the airport lounge

Will you accept your second class status

A nation of waitresses and waiters

Will you mix there martinis

Will you stand still for it

Or will you take to this hills

It could be clay and it could be sand

Could be desert

Could be a tract of arable land

Could be a house, could be a corner shop

Could be a cabin by bend in the river

Could be something you old men handed down

Could be something you built in your own

Everybody got something he calls home

When the cowboys and Arabs draw down

On each other at noon

In the cool dusty air of the city boardroom

Will you stand by a passive spectator

Of the market dictators

Will you discreetly withdraw

With your ear pressed to the boardroom door

Will you hear when the lion within you roars

Will you take to the hills

Will you stand, will you stand for it

Will you hear, ohhhh! ohhh! when the lion within you roars

Could be your father and could be your mother

Could be your sister, could be your brother

Could be a foreigner, could be Turk

Could be a cyclist out looking for work, Norman

Could be a king, could be the Aga Khan

Could be a Vietnam vet with no arms and no legs

Could be a saint, could be a sinner

Could be a loser or it could be a winner

Could be a banker, could be a baker

Could be a Laker, could be Kareem Abdul Jabar

Could be a mail voice choir

Could be a super heavyweight, or it could be something lighter

Could be a cripple, could be a freak

Could be a wop, gook, geek

Could be a cop, could be a thief

Could be a family of ten living in one room on relief

Could be a our leaders in their concrete tombs

With their tinned food and their silver spoons

Could be a pilot with God on his side

Could be a kid in the middle of the bomb sight

Could be a fanatic, could be a terrorist

Could be a dentist, could be a psychiatrist

Could be a humble, could be proud

Could be a face in the crowd

Could be a soldier in the white cravat

Who turns the key in spite of the fact

That this is the end of the cat and the mouse

Who dwelt in the house

Where the laughter rang and the tears were split

The house that Jack built

Where the laughter rang and the tears were split

The house that Jack built

Bang, bang, shoot, shoot

White gloves thumb, Lord thy will be done

He was always a good boy his mother said

He'll do this duty when he's grown, yeah

Everybody got someone they call home

Roger Waters - Home – текст


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