Those Were Da Days
Workin' fo’ free from cradle ta grave
Laborin' sunup ta sundown e’eryday,
while Missy and Massa sat in da shade
Those were da days
Us darkies knew where our place was then,
blonde ambition wish fo' freedom was a sin
Sho’ could use a good *****
like Mister Uncle Tom again
Givin’ a big pearly grin ta greet da hate,
got a ‘xtra dollop of chitlings on da plate
Man, dem auctions, dey ne’er did run late
Those were da days
Pickin' ‘o cotton was a prickly prayer sent,
wearin’ dem chains made da soul feel bent
Runaway blues was da best song ta lip hint
Those were da days
Sunday was da fav’rite time of da week,
us tar babies got no spittin’ on da cheek
Still, we weren’t allowed shoes on da feet,
seems da hounds need a scent in da heat
Thirsty breaks always were short not long,
ere by da hangin’ tree rest da buried bones
Plantation livin’ made us boys ne’er grown
Those were da days
Thus, were the miserable days of being a slave
When America get great again,
will me and my kin get Hebrew reparation paid?
400 years has been a long time ...
Us dark faces have did a lot of siren crying,
and a whole lot of lynched dying
Our stolen heritage
was shipped in a cargo of lying
Yeah, 400 years is a very long,
solitary time ...
We’re the chained cursed ones cast in prison
Us Dante portrait byword souls
got framed for the crime
Degradation is our father,
poverty is our mother
Pain is my sister,
anger is my brother
Airy abolition nary hope got ferry shackled in leg iron —
Sepia sea cheeks kissed by a whip and a gun
was our stern, captivating reality
When robo machines got to do the labor fun,
we were allowed
to escape into color-blind fantasy
Emancipated drugs
was the cracked pipe crystal meth mirror
of our downtrodden opioid liberty
Birth of a Cloudy Eye Nation ...
only twin native promises ever given to us strangers:
Two four-letter swear words —
Jobs and Work
Guess being the reel son of a slave,
means a re-run of the old ways
Vanilla ghetto dreams rooted in the red dirt:
Plantation flowers misty tear-watered
under a cold, Northern blue sky ...
turning suddenly hot, Southern gray
Ain't no IQ need to wonder why —
Future past, these now be those days
Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2018
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