Текст: Tilt. Collect 'Em All. Minister Of Culture.

A pretty bride of India
Is burned with kerosene
Her husband keeps her dowry
And his freedom is achieved
A Burmese girl in Bangkok
Is of value for her skin
Sold for her complexion
Never saw her home again

The minister of culture
He argues so well
He teeth are flashing
As he details
A legacy of murder
A heritage of rape
A time honored tradition
To maim and mutilate

Cut away her labia
With dirty broken glass
She died of an obstruction
Painfully infected mass
A dress code violation
Is an outrage in Iran
Splashed her face with acid
Only then the fun began

She wasn't good enough
A female child
Left face down packed in the snow
Umbilical cord around her tiny feet
She suffers and dies alone

A woman in a western home is under house arrest
A drunkard is her jailer he's entitled to molest
Her daughter is passed over when she tries to rasie her hand
The likelihood of her success is not an even chance

The minister of culture
He's wringing his hands
He keeps on laughing
As he demands-
"No human right applies here
Our women will agree
Our property has spoken
No cause to intervene"