I'm a little white boy in the back seat of a peugot
I want to hear africa sing,
So I roll down my window
A different kind of music,
A sound rising tall...
Like the snow-capped mountain,
Like the picture on my wall of kilamenjaro
I climb the 'frangipani tree to see over my wall
To watch the fishermen let his silver nets fall
And if I squint my eyes,
I can almost see...
The snow-capped mountain,
Smilin' back at me
CHORUS:
KilImanjaro, Kilimanjaro,
If I wash away my white skin,
Underneath, am I african?
And will I ever come this
way again?
Back to KilImanjaro
Sittin' on my mammas' shoulders in washington
People are marching everywhere in the thousands
An african is speaking,
With a voice of love,
But i can barely see him,
Like the clouds above kilamenjaro
Momma says that man is not an african
He's a preacher from georgia
By the name of martin luther king
And at that very moment,
I'm a soaring dove
Just above the treeline...
To the summit of...
CHORUS:
KilImanjaro, Kilimanjaro,
If I wash away my white skin,
Underneath, am I african?
And will I ever come this
way again?
Back to KilImanjaro