Stand up and be counted.
Let your conscience shine.
You've got to put it on the table, boy!
You've got to lay it on the line.
Hats off to those Dixie girls,
they really spoke their mind.
They took it on the chin,
but never lost their grin.
They hung it out and toughed it out
and tasted bitter wine.
They put it on the table.
They laid it on the line.
Stand up and be counted.
Let your conscience shine.
You've got to put it on the table, boy!
You've got to lay it on the line.
We're all indebted to Henry's daughter,
Hanoi Jane, I think they called her.
For all the lives she saved
and for all the light that she gave.
She hung it out and toughed it out
and tasted bitter wine.
She put it on the table.
She laid it on the line.
Stand up and be counted.
Let your conscience shine.
You've got to put it on the table, boy!
You've got to lay it on the line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem