capo up 5 to a dm and accompany on pennywhistle

Introduction, to the tune of “Song of the Lower Classes”,

The more the masters pound the bread, the more the dough will rise
The thorns of time pull on the thread, it tears off the disguise
As the river flows, wild flowers will grow, where you tried to cut the weeds
The people who you buried, don’t you know that they were seeds?

Begin reggae beat on guitar. Accordion or harmonium, banjo or cajon, bass.
Am G Am C B7 Am
Rising around the Lonmin mine, Marikana’s hills are rusting red
Am G Am, C B7 Am
Red above the platinum’s shine- Red to hold the graves of the workers dead
Am Em Am G Am
The miners killed in ‘54 Ask where is the union
Am Em Am C B7
The martyred dead of Sharpsville roar- Where is the revolution?
Am G Am Am G Am
They are answered by the guns of Marikana- Answered by the guns of Marikana

Do you trust in Ramaphosa? Did you see the stewards shoot them down?
The kopjes turned into Golgatha- Tell me, who’s the man who wears the crown?
Once he fought to form the union- Once he fought to bury Apartheid
Money drives an evolution– Now he’s the captain for the other side
Master of the guns of Marikana. Master of the guns of Marikana.

Bridge (sung lines, not a duet)
Dm C Dm
And though they try to fool us We know the game, the know the score
Dm, C Dm
The invaders still rule us- Money has more servants than the Boer
Dm C Dm
Bosses, bankers, landlords, financiers Extraction built into the constitution
Dm C Dm
By the martyr’s blood and mothers’ tears watering the master’s institutions

No more waiting for a hero To set our voices free and sooth our pain
Freedom won’t come from a bureau Rising from below we’ll break our chains
Chiapas, to Rojava, to Gaza One struggle underneath one sky
Stand your ground! Zabalaza! The more they pound the bread the more we rise
Taking up the guns of Marikana Taking up the guns of Marikana

Tune of “Song of the Lower Classes”, reggae beat
Down down we go, we are so low To the hell of the deep sunk mine
Where we gather the proudest gems that glow In the crown of the despot shine
What money’s worth, we give it birth  By the blood of our own hands
We’re not too low to dig the earth But too low to own the land