It's all right, it's all right,
If you're righteous it's all right,
Tho you've had your hands in blood up to the elbow;
You can always wash them clean with Boraxo.
Boraxo, Boraxo, the greatest stuff of all,
Boraxo in the bathroom, detergents in the hall,
Your dainty feet don't touch the street
Like people poor and mean,
And your conscience is washed clean with Boraxo.
The cop shot Rector on the roof,
The cop is clear of blame,
His uniform was spotless,
His rifle was the same.
The coppers carry dark wood clubs
So blood can not be seen,
And they always wash them clean
The student is protesting,
The copper clubs his hair.
His head is private property
But no one seems to care.
The happiness he's fighting for
Is earth and life and green,
And it can't be scoured clean
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