- Jan 30, 2001
- 1,440
- 86
The mighty Mississippi roars
Spirits of my people gather on the banks
With each rising wave
Excitement in the spirits soar
They sit and wonder
Have the chains rusted away?
Has rotted flesh and bone slipped through the shackles?
Will sons of Kings float to the top?
The spirits watch
As the river rises
Not so many years ago
Jim Crow fished this river so wide
Superiority the Klansmen's catch
Fishing with the smiles of hate
Black men cruelly used as bait
The river rises
The spirits wait
Mark Twain be damned
There is no mystery to the Mighty Mississippi
The story of this river is told through the tears of widows
Through the midnight cries of fatherless sons and daughters
The river is torturously dark
The reason known by all
As the river rises
Spirits of my people call
(c) BE,2000
Spirits of my people gather on the banks
With each rising wave
Excitement in the spirits soar
They sit and wonder
Have the chains rusted away?
Has rotted flesh and bone slipped through the shackles?
Will sons of Kings float to the top?
The spirits watch
As the river rises
Not so many years ago
Jim Crow fished this river so wide
Superiority the Klansmen's catch
Fishing with the smiles of hate
Black men cruelly used as bait
The river rises
The spirits wait
Mark Twain be damned
There is no mystery to the Mighty Mississippi
The story of this river is told through the tears of widows
Through the midnight cries of fatherless sons and daughters
The river is torturously dark
The reason known by all
As the river rises
Spirits of my people call
(c) BE,2000