| There is a train that comes from Namibia and Malawi
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| there is a train that comes from Zambia and Zimbabwe,
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| There is a train that comes from Angola and Mozambique,
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| From Lesotho, from Botswana, from Zwaziland,
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| From all the hinterland of Southern and Central Africa.
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| This train carries young and old, African men
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| Who are conscripted to come and work on contract
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| In the golden mineral mines of Johannesburg
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| And its surrounding metropolis, sixteen hours or more a
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| day
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| For almost no pay.
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| Deep, deep, deep down in the belly of the earth
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| When they are digging and drilling that shiny mighty
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| evasive stone,
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| Or when they dish that mish mesh mush food
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| into their iron plates with the iron shank.
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| Or when they sit in their stinking, funky, filthy,
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| Flea-ridden barracks and hostels.
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| They think about the loved ones they may never see again
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| Because they might have already been forcibly removed
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| From where they last left them
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| Or wantonly murdered in the dead of night
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| By roving, marauding gangs of no particular origin,
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| We are told. |
| they think about their lands, their herds
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| That were taken away from them
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| With a gun, bomb, teargas and the cannon.
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| And when they hear that Choo-Choo train
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| They always curse, curse the coal train,
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| The coal train that brought them to Johannesburg. |