My Grandpa Was A Slave Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

The men of means were short of slaves,
they went to Africa to snatch the young
some lived in jungle huts, some lived in caves
all ate the native weeds and cooked with dung.

Cheer up America, for here we come,
new masters give us work and chitterlings,
no need for schools and such, we must stay dumb
and break our backs for you, our pale-faced kings.

And now the time has come, we take the reign,
we hand you shackles now, the tables turned
hush, any struggles now will be in vain,
remember when the crosses burned?

We are your masters now, benevolent,
we'll feed you watermelons, and tepid grits,
don't blame the gods for your.... predicament
we get equality, and you the shits.