Who Fruit Are We
It is written that countless rows of
Cypress trees were planted
Like grove, for miles to go,
The Arab’s hand are cursed with
The blood of the African slaves,
Buried beneath this strangle hold
Of the sweet cypress tree
There rest the skulls and bones
Of beheaded and castrated African Slaves
You dare to look at the Arab Women
The cypress tree entangled with
The souls of African Slaves,
Who fruit are we. Thank you
Sweet Jesus, We made this far
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