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Been stomped, kick and beaten to the ground;
But don’t mourn me child; I’m not yet dead.
Comatose…maybe…but I’m still around;
So don’t count me out; count your blessings
instead.
Been chocked, hog-tide and dragged through the bloody
streets;
I’ve been slapped, shot, spat, pist upon; but still
I survive.
Had cigarettes put out where my ebony thighs meet.
But don’t mourn me yet; I’m hope and I’m still alive.
Despite the trials, tribulations, trepidations and the blood
that’s shed,
Do not succumb and wallow in despair; with head held high,
Square your shoulders and stare adversity straight in the eye;
Rip the veil of fear; let your light shine; remember the blood
the ancestors bled.
So wipe away the tears, my dawning darling
dear;
I’m the father of hope and I’ll always be
right here.
