From the dusty roads, cotton fields, plows, and plantations-
We sung our souls happy was our only consolation.
Awoke before dawn -had to -was the masters soil,
Till all was done and the master had his spoil.
Working, slaving, all day in the blistering hot sun,
Couldn't rest nor quit til Mr says all was done.
Time and again we did our best, still be beat,
Til we couldn't stand on our own - two feet.
Look at our blistered hands from pulling the plow,
Soon we'd escape it some way some how.
Crosses they'd burn, on our homes they'd trod,
We'd continue to sing praises and pray to our God.
Pray the day would soon be here- we'd overcome,
Yet, never forget where he brought us from.
Tho' things are better now but, not by far,
Mirrored man behind me still bears the scar.
Some things in this world give off some sensation,
The actions of people bring back the same plantation.