Swee chile, one a dees deys ye’ll not havta wurry no moe.
Lookatchye. Oh mah lil’ baby, one dey yo hair gun grow jutallong a’ mine. ‘Cept you ain’t gun be held back by no chains, I promise ye dat.
Boy, you gun git learnt and you gun be smar-t and you gun be respectable cuz de Good Lor’s gun pay you back for all’us had ta go tru. And when you gun lead dat plow and till dat sol, iss gun be tag it what de Good Lor’s gun give ye, and not fu no udda man, nidda.
Ooee, when Lawdy Lawdy makes tings right yo lil’ black eyes gun look out on dat green green eart and you gun say “Dis ma land!”
Hee, just ye dun fugget who had to wurry ye wurries,
Shush now, baby boy. The workmen have gone
and the path ahead is dark and overgrown.
I’ll tell why momma’s taking you away, son:
because the tapestry of your future has not yet been sown.
All anyone does for me is take things away,
and take things away, and take things away; but not today.
God knows our plight and sits on high,
but He helps those who help themselves, anyway.
Do these chains shackled around my feet
dig deep enough to bury their sins and with me die?
No, the ones holding you back tie you to the truth
and will make sure that their secrets do not restless lie.
Stop your crying! I carry you for the hope
that you can live on and you can live better.
I carry you on that when you see Lady Liberty standing free,
You can break your chains with the hammer in your voice and go get her.
Inspiration: John Henry