Appalled
I gasped at what I held in my two hands.
My son had handed me the leather whip,
A bullwhip, five feet long, a master used
To subjugate his slaves unto his will.
And then, he handed me the branding irons,
Which heated to a red-hot glow were used
To brand a human as a master's own.
I felt disgust, appalled, to think they scorched
A person's brow, or seared a woman's breast
To indicate a master's ownership
Of human beings.
Slaves were classified
As lower than the cattle in the field,
Who lived in quarters, a degree above,
What masters would provide for their prize pigs.
Slave girls were tagged as 'breeders, ' bred like dogs,
To bind in servitude their newborn child.
A slave was valued by his 'use, ' not by
His human value. He was bought and sold
Upon an auction block, with heifers, hogs
And brooder mares, like chattel on a farm.
Denied all self-respect and dignity,
Through burning indignation, slaves maintained
An inner purpose which prevailed despite
The efforts to debase them less than swine.
What was the mastic causing them to live
When death was far their better choice than life?
An old black man advised me of the cause.
'There was a bond of faith they found within
Their gospel, where they heard the Word of God,
Both sung and spoken from the church lectern.
A basic trust that God would elevate
Them from their desperate depravation. They
Endured because of those who were to come,
The future generations, whom they hoped
Could rise above the level, which the slaves
Themselves then lived.
Belief blazed up like fire
Through their religion. An awakening,
Had lighted the dark caves of their deep grief,
Ignited from the embers of their dreams.'
(Free Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Related quotes
Only the Slaves
How to regard a manner as decent
Is only a requirement of manliness.
It despises the master to see the slave perish,
And the men have reawakened.
Manners of a slave are laudable when man
Is sufficient as a master, and love is a learning all common.
To live a wreck and survive a storm is a slavery
Of every man. Regard a manner in this city as sacred.
The key to the city lies in the minds of men who are leaders.
The painting of a king is adequate for the retelling.
It is a city in the air, and I call it Red and Yellow.
Kings and queens are averse to these intricacies.
We are masters, and they are slaves of the House.
A Palace is built in heaven if you are good.
Only the slaves are the masters in Heaven.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Amusing Trial, in Which a Yankee Lawyer Rendered a Just Verdict.
A Slave sold at Auction.
A time there was, when no one thought
It sin, to hold a slave he'd bought,
And of his strength have the command,
As much as of his house and land.
A Yankee Lawyer long had kept
A negro-man with whom he slept.
And ate, and Sabbath day,
He half the time from church would stay;
When Cuff his master's garments wore.—
'Twas strange you say, but he was poor;
And though he cared not for Cuff's soul,
Yet such the times, that on the whole,
'Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, thou art a bitter draught.'—Sterne.
His slave must to the meeting go,
If 'twas for nothing but a show.
They lived on thus for several years—
One would not think, that many tears
Would fall from off that shining face,
So sleek and smooth, or he would trace
Note.—In some parts of the country, slaves are scantily fed, while their masters live in luxury.
Note.—In some parts of the country, slaves are scantily fed, while their masters live in luxury.
The chain which bound, or wish to break,
But choose to stay for his own sake,
Where he so well was clothed and fed,
And shared the lawyer's food and bed,
So well contented he might be,
He'd hardly know but he was free,
Fetters formerly used by the slave traders, to confine the ankles of their victims. The editor has seen some that were actually used by Rhode Island traders.
Fetters formerly used by the slave traders, to confine the ankles of their victims. The editor has seen some that were actually used by Rhode Island traders.
But make the fetters of pure gold.
They're hateful still, they gall, they hold,
And if the pill is sugared o'er,
'Tis still as bitter as before.
Cuff ponder'd much, but did not know,
If he his master left to go,
And seek his fortune, he could find
Another master half so kind,
And who would give so large a share
Of the small pittance he could spare,
And every privilege could grant,
Which he could need or ever want;
Emblem of Freedom.—A moth just changed from its chrysalis state, deserting its shell.
Emblem of Freedom.—A moth just changed from its chrysalis state, deserting its shell.
But then of freedom he had heard,
And ere the dawning light appeared.
Early one morning Cuff arose,
And quickly putting on his clothes,
Stole softly out; lest he should wake
His master, who would rouse and shake
The slumbers from his drowsy eyes,
And think that it was time to rise.
So Cuff went off. His master woke,
And Cuff was gone! It was no joke.
The Lawyer's work must now be done,
All by himself; and till the sun
A man escaping from slavery.
A man escaping from slavery.
Is slowly sinking in the west,
He'll scarcely have a minute's rest.
He felt his temper quickly rise,
Thinking his slave too rich a prize,
To be allowed to slip away,
Without a trial for 'fair play;'
A slave-catcher is worse than a beast of prey.
A slave-catcher is worse than a beast of prey.
Said he, 'My course is plain enough,
I'll take my horse and go for Cuff,
For he's my slave, and he shall give
To me, his service if he live.'
Saddling his horse he mounts him quick,
Drives after Cuff with spur and stick:
But soon he paused his cause to try,
And thus he said, Why should not I
Be slave instead of Cuff, and he
As well be running after me
As I for him?—I'll let him go,
Whether he's free by law or no.
Justice freeing the slave.
Justice freeing the slave.
For God who fashioned him and me,
No doubt made all his children free.
So justice o'er his mind held sway,
And Cuff in freedom, went his way.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Mithridates At Chios
KNOW'ST thou, O slave-cursed land!
How, when the Chian's cup of guilt
Was full to overflow, there came
God's justice in the sword of flame
That, red with slaughter to its hilt,
Blazed in the Cappadocian victor's hand?
The heavens are still and far;
But, not unheard of awful Jove,
The sighing of the island slave
Was answered, when the Ægean wave
The keels of Mithridates clove,
And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war.
'Robbers of Chios! hark,'
The victor cried, 'to Heaven's decree!
Pluck your last cluster from the vine,
Drain your last cup of Chian wine;
Slaves of your slaves, your doom shall be,
In Colchian mines by Phasis rolling dark.'
Then rose the long lament
From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves:
The priestess rent her hair and cried,
'Woe! woe! The gods are sleepless-eyed!'
And, chained and scourged, the slaves of slaves,
The lords of Chios into exile went.
'The gods at last pay well,'
So Hellas sang her taunting song,
'The fisher in his net is caught,
The Chian hath his master bought;'
And isle from isle, with laughter long,
Took up and sped the mocking parable.
Once more the slow, dumb years
Bring their avenging cycle round,
And, more than Hellas taught of old,
Our wiser lesson shall be told,
Of slaves uprising, freedom-crowned,
To break, not wield, the scourge wet with their blood and tears.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The New Inner-City Slave Plantation
The now-a-day slave or labor force
The ruling-class determines the course
The political master’s pastor contorts
Politics and policy aborts
The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation
Work like a blind jackass
Support and finance the ruling class
Being bi-partisan-just a mask
Cultured career criminals civilizing crass
The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation
The political engineers of The Greater Good own
The inner city war-zone
The psychotropic drug sets the tone
Slavery as the new world order is the throne
The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation
Multi-tasking a labor saving device
Freedom of movement has no right
Monopolized government enslaved all might
The inner city slave- plantation private and prime
Real estate blight
The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation
The thirteenth amendment of the constitution
On the inner city slave-plantation no social, no economical,
No educational, no political absolution
On the inner city slave-plantation, indentured servants,
Chattel slaves, still considered Black Gold
By the God Fearing slave codes used to control
The new inner city slave-plantation
Human and civil rights violation with extreme taxation
On the new inner city slave-plantation
The American Flag can not wave
Even Democracy is revered as a Black Slave
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Bible in Poetry: Galatians 4
As long as heir is just a child,
He is not diff’rent from a slave,
Although he owns the whole estate,
Until time set by his father,
He has guardians and too trustees.
When we were children, we were slaves,
Under the basic rules of world;
But when the time had fully come,
God sent his son, born of woman,
Born under law to redeem all,
In law to rights receive of sons;
Being sons, God sent the Spirit
Of His One Son into our hearts,
Who calls out ‘Abba’ or Father;
No longer are you slaves but sons,
And being sons, God made you heirs!
Paul’s Concern for the Galatians:
When formerly, you didn’t know God,
You’re slaves to those who were not gods;
Now that you know the living God,
Or rather known by God Himself,
Why do you turn back to your ways
Of weak, improper principles?
Do you want to be slaves again?
You observe special months, seasons,
And days and years, I fear for you;
Have my efforts all gone awaste?
I plead with you, my brothers then,
Become like me, henceforth in time;
You haven’t done wrong to me at all;
Because I was then ill, I preached
The gospel first to you earlier;
Although my illness troubled you,
You didn’t treat me with contempt, scorn.
Contrariwise, you welcomed me
As if I were God’s angel then:
As if I were Christ Jesus Lord;
What happened to all of your joy?
If you had done, I would have told;
You would have gouged your eyes for me!
Am I your foe for telling truth?
Those people want to win you o’er,
And alienate you from us somehow;
For goodness sake, be zealous then,
Provided good, the purpose be;
And be so always, forever;
My children dear for whom I ache,
With child-birth pains till you get Christ,
Oh, how I wish I be with you,
And change my tone, perplexed with you!
Hagar and Sarah:
You who want to be in the law,
Aren’t you aware of what law says?
’Tis writ: Abraham had two sons
One by the slave woman, Hagar,
Other by free woman, Sarah;
The former came in common way,
But the free woman Sarah’s son
Was born by promise of God’s mouth.
These represent two covenants:
The former one from Mount Sinai,
Which bears children who will be slaves;
And this is Hagar, Arabia,
Presently now Jerusalem,
Which is in bondage with children;
The city that’s above is free,
And she is our mother, Sarah!
For ’tis written:
‘Be glad, O barren woman then,
Who does not bear any children;
Break forth in joy and cry aloud;
You do not suffer labor pains;
Because the children born are more
Of the desolate woman than
Of her, who has a husband own.’
But then, what does the Scripture say?
Get rid of slave woman and son,
For latter never can share in
Inheritance with free woman’s son;
We aren’t children of slave woman,
But are the sons of free woman!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-2-2007
poem by John Celes
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Jibba This
We're slaves to saving time, as if we didn't have enough
We're slaves to the hormone, we're men and must be tough
We're slaves to the dollar, and the happiness that it brings
tradition rules from the start generations running round in rings
[ Chorus ]
I want out I want to escape the human role
They teach us we're fulfilled, when we've done what we're told
Now I feel an emptiness whenever I act out on my own
Now i'm going to break these binds, and get my life back on track
fulfill the expectations with others behind, and fulfill my life with what you call crap
[Chorus
song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black History
Boom, boom, boom!
That was in 1530 to the Slave Trade;
My Mama told me so,
My Papa told me so,
In the name of our ancestors gone by;
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for powder,
Slaves for hardware,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! !
All over the West Coast of Africa!
Today, i am a Blackman to tell you a story.
Black History, the Black African, the Black Race;
Of my ancestors gone by,
Boom, boom, boom!
Black head, black sugar, black coffee;
Where are the true identities of the Blacks?
That was in 1530 to the Slave trade.
Black History, black love;
A Black Race to a call.
Tap your fingers and do think about it,
My Mama told me so;
Bllack shoes, black phones;
With the Black History gone too soon,
My Papa told me so.
Black hair, black eyes;
The black coal to steam up the engines!
In the name of my ancestors gone by;
But, where are the black pens of love to share?
Do think about this and learn from it,
Boom, boom, boom!
A Blackman in the house to tell us a story;
Where is William Wilberforce?
Where is Thomas Buxton?
Where is Granville Sharp?
What about the Slaves? !
These men need to tell us more;
They killed my ancestors softly without compensations!
Black love, black stream, a black home to live in;
Like 'Naughty By Nature',
I've got 'Queen Latifah' to tell us more.
Of the Black Songs,
Of the Black race,
With a Black-Limo to keep us going;
This Slave Trade was a Black History to us all.
Boom, boom, boom!
Do contact Africa to learn more from this;
Like a black bird, a black cat and the black fingers! !
Do contact Africa to see things for yourselves.
Oh Blackman,
When are they going to admit to what they did?
Like a Black Ninja in the house,
Do know your history before you destroy yourselves.
Boom, boom, boom!
The very sound of the Slaves marching on;
This is our colour and, we have to respect it.
Black Cop, Black Soldier;
A Black Marine to a call,
We still have more to learn from each other.
Black wine, Black Doctor, Black People;
Know all about your history.
About where you came from and,
Where you are today;
Black seed, black marble, Black Prophets!
We still have more to learn.
Slaves for arms,
Slaves for hardware,
Slavces for powder,
Slaves for spirits;
Boom, boom, boom! ! !
Black beauty, black sea, black pot;
Black Nurse, black melody, black stamp;
Know your history always.
Of the freed Slaves from England to Sierra Leone,
With those from America to Liberia! ! ! !
Today the Black Panther is here to stay like,
The Black Writer.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Human Alchemy
An alchemy, human alchemy
We stole them from their freedom to be sold
To turn their skins of black into the skins
Of brightest gold
An alchemy , human alchemy
We stoked the fires of trade with human coals
And made our purses from the flailed skins of
Purest souls
An alchemy , human alchemy
Other lands became a larder full of all the good things
All we had to do was go and take
Blood the colour rain that grew our wicked harvest
Black the colour icing on our cake
An alchemy , human alchemy
We stole their babes and mothers, chiefs and braves
Although we held the whip, you knew we were
The real slaves
To alchemy , human alchemy
Alchemy , human alchemy
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Human Alchemy
An alchemy, human alchemy
We stole them from their freedom to be sold
To turn their skins of black into the skins
Of brightest gold
An alchemy , human alchemy
We stoked the fires of trade with human coals
And made our purses from the flailed skins of
Purest souls
An alchemy , human alchemy
Other lands became a larder full of all the good things
All we had to do was go and take
Blood the colour rain that grew our wicked harvest
Black the colour icing on our cake
An alchemy , human alchemy
We stole their babes and mothers, chiefs and braves
Although we held the whip, you knew we were
The real slaves
To alchemy , human alchemy
Alchemy , human alchemy
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Laws Are A Crime Against Humanity
Is it always lawful to follow every letter of the law?
Is it ever lawful to deliberately break a nation's law?
What if laws themselves are a crime against humanity?
Some say may my country ever be right but my country
right or wrong this sentiment will accept support tyranny.
I the Carl Schurz version do advocate firmly resolutely
'My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right;
and if wrong, to be set right.' Is a moral conscience fight.
To slaves who tremble fearfully obey unjust laws
I say many famous past so called great civilizations;
passed laws making it legal to own fellow human beings
live stock to be bought sold beaten killed at whim of owners;
to aid free slaves help in any way was against grim cruel laws
to be caught in such attempts meant torture death sentences;
yet the right of all human beings to religious personal freedoms is
a sacred indelible right great civilizations uphold high principles.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Rescue The Slave
This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was
confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back
to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the story we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.
Praying for liberty, dearer than life,
Torn from his little one, torn from his wife,
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, feel for his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold him again;
Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will;
Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead;
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late;
Slavery is knocking, at every gate,
Make good the promise, your early days gave,
Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Bury Me in a Free Land
Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay
Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,
And I heard the captive plead in vain
As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mother's arms
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,
My eye would flash with a mournful flame,
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might
Can rob no man of his dearest right;
My rest shall be calm in any grave
Where none can call his brother a slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Who can be Redeemed?
Who can be saved?
So many can be saved -
A rich man and his family,
They can be saved.
But who can be redeemed?
Only souls enslaved.
Only those sold
Can be bought back again.
Those who purchase minds and souls
By sermon, fear or flattery
May not petition for redemption
Or ask how it will set them free.
Those who traded on South Africa
While Mandela worked in jail
Those who issued bonds of war
While Iraq's children died in flames
You who claim to be redeemers
While disowning fields you've sown -
The lands you've stolen, slaves you've owned -
Will pay in different currency
Than any you have yet controlled.
Until you've lived in servitude
To justice and its wondrous law
Until you are the slaves to truth
Redemption is not yours' to know.
poem by Frank Bana
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What Is A Slave, Mother
What is a slave, mother?—I heard you say
That word with a sorrowful voice, one day;
And it came again to my thoughts last night,
As I laid awake in the broad moonlight;
Methinks I have heard a story told,
Of some poor men, who are bought and sold,
And driven abroad with stripes to toil,
The live-long day on a stranger's soil;
Is this true mother?
May children as young as I be sold,
And torn away from their mother's hold—
From home—from all they have loved and known,
To dwell in the great wide world alone,
Far, far away in some distant place,
Where they never may see their parents’ face?
Ah! how I should weep to be torn from you!
Tell me, dear mother, can this be true?
Alas, yes, my child.
Does the master love the slave child well,
That he takes away in his house to dwell?
Does he teach him all that he ought to know,
And wipe his tears when they sometimes flow—
And watch beside him in sickness and pain,
Till health comes back to his cheek again—
And kneel each night by his side to pray,
That God will keep him through life's rough way?
Alas, no, my child.
Ah, then must the tales I have heard be true,
Of the cruel things that the masters do;
That the poor slaves often must creep to bed,
On their scatter'd straw, but scantily fed;
Be sometimes loaded with heavy chains;
And flogg'd till their blood the keen lash stains;
While none will care for their bitter cry,
Or soothe their hearts when their grief is high.
It is so, my child.
And is it not, mother, a sinful thing,
The bosoms of others with pain to wring—
To bid them go labour and delve the soil,
And seize the reward of their weary toil—
For men to tear men from their homes away,
And sell them for gold, like a lawful prey!
Oh surely the land where such deeds are done,
Must be a most savage and wicked one!
It is this, my child.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Respect God's Gift
My queen of many sweets…
Grant me thy royal seat…
Without you I'm not complete…
No other shall adorn my sheets…
For you, my queen are unique…
I'm attracted to your energy…
God created you just for me…
Together we are foot-loose and fancy free…
There will never be another you for me…
Your love is where I should be…
God created the deep blue sea…
And all that swim in thee…
God created a queen for every man…
Your love is like grams of sand…
Excellent for filtering the man…
For you… are many…your love for me…
Is plenty…
And without you I would be committing a sin…
Now and again…
So, be surprised…
That I obey, not just for thighs…
But because I love you…your beauty…
And your wisdom show…
As a person… I can't doubt you…
Any more…Mother of the womb…
A railroad for slaves…
Concubine to a (master) …
It was my life you save…
There is no shame in being your slave…
You have endured much…
And yet…
You have the sweetest touch…
I can't help… but to love and respect you…
MUCH…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Cry For Freedom
(m&l - weikath/hansen)
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
Time has run out for all tyrans in this world
Your slaves are heedin the call
Mankin an end to all this terror and pain
And the end to your lies and your law
Takin away all your gold and your money
cause dead men don´t need it anymore
Much too long we felt the slash of your whips
So now you will feel our sword
Freedom the eternal cry will echo high in the sky
The day will come when all power has been broken
Your blood will flow down to the gates of hell
Satan will wait for your souls
Pray to your God he wont help you hes dead
He wonpt fool our minds and souls... anymore
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever on their load
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sugar-Plums
No, no, pretty sugar-plums! stay where you are!
Though my grandmother sent you to me from so far;
You look very nice, you would taste very sweet,
And I love you right well, yet not one will I eat.
For the poor slaves have labour'd, far down in the south,
To make you so sweet and so nice for my mouth;
But I want no slaves toiling for me in the sun,
Driven on with the whip, till the long day is done.
Perhaps some poor slave child, that hoed up the ground,
Round the cane in whose rich juice your sweetness was found,
Was flogg'd, till his mother cried sadly to see,
And I'm sure I want nobody beaten for me.
So grandma, I thank you for being so kind,
But your present, to-day, is not much to my mind;
Though I love you so dearly, I choose not to eat
Even what you have sent me by slavery made sweet.
Thus said little Fanny, and skipp'd off to play,
Leaving all her nice sugar-plums just where they lay,
As merry as if they had gone in her mouth,
And she had not cared for the slaves of the south.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Just as the slave master required the slaves to imitate the image he had of them, so women, who live in a relatively powerless position, politically and economically, feel obliged by a kind of implicit force to live up to culture's image of what is female.
quote by Susan Griffin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Live Carefree With Two Bond Slaves
We live carefree,
With two bond slaves,
Only Life and Death.
You know someday,
We must meet Him.
I have that Faith.
If in this life;
We stay selfish,
Are we human?
Motherland cries,
'Save me my Son, '
The Call clarion...
What for this life?
Cocooned at Home,
With tongue in cheek?
No, no my Friend,
Embrace Life, Death;
Don't get so meek!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it...do something about it
We make her paint her face and dance
If she wont be a slave, we say that she dont love us
If shes real, we say shes trying to be a man
While putting her down, we pretend that shes above us
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave of the slaves
Ah, yeah...better scream about it
We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen
We tell her home is the only place she should be
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend
Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yeah...alright...hit it!
We insult her every day on tv
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When shes young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb
Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...if you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with
Woman is the slave to the slaves
Yes she is...if you believe me, you better scream about it
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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