Clickety clack, clickety clack
what is that awful sound?
Where mam did you get those mounds across your back?
reading between the lines of broken flesh
lines blurred and scarred between prejudice and hate
children crying for their mothers, taken from the nipple before true time
sold into a life of serving food and pussy to massa
chained up like cargo, shipped away by the masses
clickety clack, clickety clack
what on earth is that awful sound?
Black skin ment you worked your chocolate dipped fingers in the fields
caramel women labored inside, shaded with dry wall and fine china
only to bear massa's children- instead of the heat
reading, writing- luxuries only afforded with their life
lives left behind- stuck within the lasso hanging from the branches
cherry oak trees stained with the blood, black, african blood
torn rags worn to cover their bodies- stripped naked on the inside
stripped of the right to choose, voice silenced- choked by the smoke emitted from the rifle
bullets, whips, knives holding their power hostage
clickety clack, clickety clack
what is that awful sound?
looking at the glow of my skin, in the morning light
the natural curl of my hair passed down, up and around from generations to me
those same whips I subconsciously bear
praying to the same God, to bring my people thru yet another storm
creek waters so high- to high for me alone to tread
my ancestors spirits were released from those chains, let down from the lasso's
in me they breathe, in you they speak
in her they rejoice
in us they live
In us they live
