Home lyrics

[Jim:] "Oh, God!"

[Californian Weirdo:] "Sole has no eyes."

Could be Jerusalem

Or it could be Cairo

Could be Berlin

Or it could be Prague

Could be Moscow

Could be New York

Could be Llanelli

And it 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 their martinis

Will you stand still for it

Or will you take to the 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 a bend in the river

Could be something your old man handed down

Could be something you built on 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

[Oh, will you stand

Will you stand for it

Oh, will you hear when the lion within you roars]

Could be your father

And it could be your mother

Could be your sister

Could be your brother

Could be a foreigner

Could be a Turk

Could be someone out looking for work

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 male voice choir

Could be a lover

Could be a fighter

Could be a super heavyweight [ooh]

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 our leaders in their concrete tombs

With their tinned food and their silver spoons

Could be the pilot with God on his side

Could be the 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 humble

Could be proud

Could be a face in the crowd

Could be the soldier in the white cravat

Who turns the key in spite of the fact

That this is the end of the cat and mouse

Who dwelt in the house

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt

The house that Jack built

Where the laughter rang and the tears were spilt

The house that Jack built

Bang, bang, shoot, shoot

White gloved thumb

Lord thy will be done

He was always a good boy, his mother said

He'll do his duty when he's grown

Yeah, everybody's got someone they call home

• Artist:Roger Waters
• Album:Radio K.A.O.S. 1987