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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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 negro 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
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