A DEBT NOT PAID
Way back then there were slave ships and traders; their souls were hellishly dark.
They sailed the seas unchallenged like some kind of perverted Noah's Ark.
From the very start the African man paid a heavy price.
They were slaves on your plantations, harvesting your rice.
You beat them with a rod and made them pick your cotton.
Deep down inside you all knew that your souls were rotten.
There’s a debt not paid.
You know it’s American made.
Time to settle; this country must pay
for the hell we sent their way.
For hundreds of years there was a trail of tears and so many of them were lost.
These people were in need as we fed on our greed, all this at a terrible cost.
Then came the Emancipation Proclamation but without reparations it was just a cruel joke.
You said they were free, but it wasn’t to be, in the end you just gave them another yoke.
Finally, there came the voice of one crying in the wilderness, his truth, it couldn’t be denied. The old ones wanted to quiet him, and I’m here to tell you that they really tried.
His name was Martin, and he was anything but mainstream.
In God’s name he made his claim and said, “I have a dream”.
It was a moment of glory, but you know the story; one day they took his life.
The people would cry "why did he have to die” all he left was a widowed wife.
There’s a debt not paid.
You know it’s American made.
Time to settle; this country must pay
for the hell we sent their way.
Black Lives Matter is the mantra of the day.
Every day some racist cop takes another young life away.
We must fix this now; We must fix this fast.
We’ll never have a future until we face our past.
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