First, they cried and yelled,
For they were treated like strangers in their home,
They toiled all day,
Labouring all night, but their pockets were filled with nothingness.
Their homes made out of the humblest of materials,
They could barely move at night, only stared at lights from a distance.
They’re treated by the colour of their skin.
In their hearts God made the rules,
And made the black man lower, so the rulers said.
Take a few bold steps forward,
Jubilation, and fun fare,
Firecrackers, and booze drinking.
Bodies flying, and souls smiling,
Captain of their own ship,
Same skin colour at the top, and below.
This was a definition of freedom.
Strangers gone, blood has stopped flowing,
Water is now thicker, colour is now stranger
Hardship is now bigger,
The soot on the future is now thicker.
Working, and toiling,
Day and night,
But their pockets are still empty,
Their children are still hungry,
Their homes are still without light,
From a distance they stood watching.
Treated according to the size of their pockets.
The rules are still the same,
Only the rulers changed,
And this time the odds are slimmer.