Brother, ya know how ya kept yer hand on my heel,
dont't that mean we share the Right since we was born?
I'm facin' death, and fer food, ya wanna make some deal?
Ya know, I can't make it alone through Ma's field's 'a corn;
yer her darlin' one, seein' as yer skin's so fair,
but, workin' together, we can come with some new path;
sure, I'm Pop's favorite, and I'm still covered with hair;
if we twin our ways, we can dodge so much future wrath.
Brother, yer hand on heel's where I'm weakest, still;
but, like our Birthright, we can share Pop's Blessing, too;
eating meat and corn, we can drink 'til we've had our fill.
Our kids won't starve, this peace we've made'll hold true;
later, when they're searchin' and find our land,
mine won't turn 'em away, but let 'em know it's also their own;
they'll all remember how we was born, my heel was in yer hand,
and Pop, when blind, won't have this sin we'll all need for him to atone.
Copyright © Ryan McCabe