Three-Fifth Soul
It’s a terrible thing to be treated
as less than human ... all should abhor
Considered only as beast of burden —
that’s the lying end of it, nothing more
Iron yoke was our neck collar,
leash was a throat chain
Valued sixty cents on a dollar,
man is a doggone shame!
We were oxen on a perpetual till,
work mules in a plantation field
Our sweat harvest was golden amber grain
of one hundred percent sob pain inhumane
On the wage scale of cloaked justice,
for our labor, we were given nothing
Every economy based on oppression knows,
slaves are beast of burden most profitable
Muzzled voices auction sold
in the free market as pack animals
Degradation of subhuman sorrow
made us feel less than whole
Wary buyers were merchant told,
slaves were worth their weight in gold
Bray truth load in the cargo hold:
Talking mules have a Three-Fifth soul
~
O, Shopper Queen, $$ bag Lady Liberty,
I pagan pray with measured uncertainty
Leaning hard on your graven image mercy
for sooo long has been spiked crown thorny
I do now toil realize, hence I speak Perseus bold:
The grind-stone torch you Medusa hold,
whose covetous flame be imperious cold,
has dollar burned a hole into my Three-Fifth soul
False Profits bought have emptied out
from these pockets of Forty acre doubt
Wavy trust carry not any anthem clout,
rest easy on full pay is plow turnabout
This I do believe, Miss Lady Liberty, from Times old:
Pyramid schemes have an expiration date bar code
400-years interest repaid of Redeem hope stole
has principally made whole my Three-Fifth soul
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