Ali's Song
 
They say that gold don't tarnish. It ain't so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
   I flung their medal to the river, child.
   I flung their medal to the river, child.
 
They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, "called a spade a spade."
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
   I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
   I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
 
Ain't got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me nigger, did me wrong.
A man can't be lukewarm, 'cause God hates mild.
   I flung their notice to the river, child.
   I flung their notice to the river, child.
 
They said, "Now here's your bullet and your gun,
and there's your cell: we're waiting, you choose one."
At first I groaned aloud, and then I smiled.
   I gave their "future" to the river, child.
   I gave their "future" to the river, child.
 
My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image–Bold.
My blood boiled like that river–strange and wild.
   I died to hate in that dark river, child,
   Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.