Black history,
No mystery,
Not hidden hieroglyphically,
We didn't feel their pain physically,
But their cries are a sour symphony.
We can't forget though, how they echo,
Like the ecko on these walls,
They are forever written,
How we lost land we once ruled.
They tried to slow down our success,
When we were on the plantation,
They tried to SLOW the inevitable,
They forgot we were Jamaican,
From Africa we originated,
Before the EU and US invaded,
Like gamma, their gun bullets penetrated,
Under the hammer, we were ruled and regulated,
The crack of the whip,
It made us sick,
No bed on the boat so we laid in it.
So take the Mick,
Its more pain you inflict,
On these bloodied bruises as big as these lips.
In their tales of life we belied, towards one
another it was hard to confide,
They captured our tribe, I believe, they lied
Because the gra** was not greener on the other side
They stole our pride, the children cried,
Like the red in a girl's head our ancestors died,
Their actions are still unrectified, the
thought of our prosperity petrified.
The slave masters TRIED to keep our
spirits sound,
As they feared what we would become,
So say it loud, I'm black and proud,
Till the day we are all joined as one.