My Great Grandparents
My great grandparents were refugees
That should be a normal thing to say
I was born in New York City
My people came from far away
They fled the generals and dictators
The warlords of Moscow and Budapest
You could be conscripted for the rest of your life
Or you could head west
My great great grandparents were refugees, too
Just north and west of Brittany
Farmers in the hills somewhere
On the starving side of the Irish Sea
They fled their colonial torturers
They fled starvation, slavery
They fled across the Atlantic
Along with millions of other refugees
My great grandparents were refugees
But getting to the other side
Took such a toll it seems
That my great grandfather died
So when his son was a little kid
He grew up without a dad
And that’s typical of the hard life
So many other refugees had
My great grandparents were refugees
Let me tell you what that means
They were escaping war-torn lands
Ruled by tyrants, kings and queens
They did not come seeking fortune
They were not pioneers
Leaving home, their hearts were broken
And all their cries fell on deaf ears
My great grandparents were refugees
No one taught me that in school
It’s dangerous information
In the old game of divide and rule
My name is David Rovics
And I know who my people are
They’re on that raft upon the ocean
They’re in the trunk of that car