The cries of the weak and helpless are heard from the shore,
To a ship bound for the America’s under the master’s roar,
“Up the anchor, set all sails, let this profitable journey begin, ”
With a laugh, “you’re safety’s temporary, we’ll be back again.”

If today’s descendants of slavery had a small idea, if they only knew,
For freedom the daily struggles their ancestors had to go through,
There could never be a class to prepare or nothing you’d ever do,
Black kids would realize wearing pants below the butt, is not cool.

February’s the selected month celebrating what’s called Black History,
Why we only have one and not all twelve is an even bigger mystery,
Not that I’m in denial about the planting