Siembamba, mother's little baby See the mamba, mother's little child Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch Step on his head Make sure he is dead It's a blue and misty mountain With tall and hungry trees Footprints from a goldmine The wind howls ill at ease At the edge of the lake Hyenas laughing wild Wild horses in the distance Don't cry mother's child A root does not know What a leaf has in mind Evil comes in many forms And some of them seem kind It's an ill-wind that brings No one any good Siembamba, mother's little baby See the soldier, mother's little child Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch Step on his neck Make sure he 's dead Who'd put the fire out burning The one from deep within Helpless and rejected Desperate, disconnected So hopelessly forlorn Waiting for the dawn Hateful love glides in the night Evil wins the fight A root does not know What a leaf has in mind Evil comes in many forms And some of them seem kind It's an ill-wind that brings No one any good Siembamba, mother's little baby See the mamba, mother's little child Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch Step on his head Make sure he is dead Siembamba, mother's little baby See the soldier, mother's little child Ring his neck, throw him in the ditch Step on his head Make sure he is dead Siembamba Siembamba Siembamba Siembamba Siembamba Siembamba