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