Peter, from the dry Karoo Never cries, because he's poor Always does what he is told Never questions, he's not that bold Drags his feet so he can walk Moves his lips so so he can talk Though he's known to never utter Even wishes he could stutter
Peter, from the dry Karoo Skin so dry, eyes so poor Wishes he could smell a flower So his life could be something other, than dour Food is soft, so he can chew His gums are sore, his teeth are few His liver, drier than a mummy Hmm.. Never knew his own mummy
Peter, from the dry Karoo
Sees farmers cry, for rains to pour The pipes are dry, their hands are sore No one knows what else is in store
The people don't have much to eat Their families might live on the street They're threatened death They're land be lost Their children shot, killed at no cost
Taking land without compensation It's the talk of the town, in every conversation