Retching On The Dirt — текст песни (napalm death)

I`m retching on the dirt, it`s earthiness coating my throat.
I`m wincing on the bitterest pill.
I refuse to swallow.
I`m offered the warmth of a velvet glove, an iron fist to some.
I`m hounded by white - right might that wants the country pure.
I`m incensed by those in awe of living amongst their own.
Selective perfection will cut their own throats!
I`m constantly forcing the point, but we`re all retching on dirt, =
and we`ll choke if we don`t spit it out!