Jon Konnu

Here they come the prancing drums and fife That call the children from their village life To run with glee and meet with fear horsehead, Whooping bway or devil costumed in dread And there pitchy patchy dancing for his fee I hear the grater still and feel my skinny knee Knocking while crow head pitches over me And behind him the cracking whip, devil's misery. REFRAIN: dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum Form Freeport to Kingston dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum From Exuma to the Carolinas It is riot in the sun dum dudu dup dum dudu dup, dum dudu dup, dum What rite was this? What strange festival came From the plantation history of laden shame? Given freedom to be animals, animals we exist For we had no Saturnalia before in our forest. Ashanti dance, yes, but assimilation all the rest Except the costume, mask and colorful dress These were mere exterior things hiding our pain Inverted black devil with his merry animal train. I shall not hear of it, something deeper inside Scarred us, and we in nursery rhymes would hide The truth we could not tell without punishment Our tongues whipped lock our knowledge silent The Christmas festival was for them, habit instilled Survived deliverance form husk of foreign will They come singing to tell children, not again The whip and shackles, the iron cuffle of pain.