Careful, Massa, you push real hard,
why you treat me like I is retard?
I work good, Massa, I pick your cotton,
I no sing sad songs, I be forgotten.
Each time, Massa, each time you push,
I hear the voice of the burning bush,
but I no say nothing, I pick your cotton,
I no sing sad songs, I go rotten.
The voice, He hear me cryin' out,
He ask me what I cry about,
I no have rest, I pick your cotton,
I no sing sad songs, I hit the bottom.
The voice, He tell me be prepared,
the night is falling, I no be scared,
He tell me now sing what I desire,
wake up, Massa, your cotton catch fire.
2 comments:
language vs. story;
it hit me, reading this, language dont gotta b "beautiful" in order to touch one on an emotional level. u know what i mean? like make one breathe slower and grab one's chest in marvel and surprise
hey, this is very nice. i particularly like how its written.
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