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.
Comments about My Grandpa Was A Slave by Herbert Nehrlich
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl