Unto The Underground Railroad (Part Two)

by Catherinebutterfly


Part Two


Shortly before the Civil War, 
In the South we were still enslaved. 
If I could only make our children to 
Understand that freedom is something earned
What they call nothing and throw away 
What they know as fun
We never had 
While they sit on corners killing each other 
With knifes dopes and guns.
We worked hard, we shed our blood
We was humiliated, disrespected
Locked up like animals
Beaten, abused, not allowed to go to school
While some of them spend their time acting
Like fools.
We spend our nights, our days
Our time working in the hot sun
We had no time for fun
Dropping because we couldnít stop
Praying to God for our freedom
For their freedom
To be seen as the human being we are
And not as some sub-human things they labeled us
And they now stand and throw it all away
We have come a long ways 
For our young to throw it all away
Our promise land came 
Not as our young people want it
But what we got we appreciated
One step at a time.
One step at a time and they throw it 
All back
And then we worked to gather more
And our young stand on corners and allies
Throwing all our blood and life work away.

Us women was called wenches and bitches
Our men called bastards or bucks
Had no freedom or say what we wanted
Us slaves had no such luck.

To speak up meant a beaten or death
For a nigger they say didnít have no rightsí
And so some of us escaped into the night.
We ran with the wind
Praising and praying to God
That white man didnít catch us
Even way back then.

Sometimes it pains me so bad to look back
Itís a sin to even think back
But to keep on keeping on
Allowing our children to know
Where we come from 
I tell the story to all that can hear
I tell it to them and tell them to hold
The truth to their hearts dearly
Explaining it to their own and all that 
Will listen as they go

Our children needs to know
Where we come from and how we got here
And so I trouble my mind with the telling them
Of why they must fight harder than that white child
Harder than that white man or woman
Even when they act like they donít want to know

As slaves, we had to work long and difficult hours, 
We didn't have any control over where we lived 
Or what would happen to our families, 
Nope we didnít have any control of what happen to them
We couldnít make any deals
So we had to bite that bitter pill
And do just what those white men say

Our children got to know
We had none of the pleasures they have to day
We didnít have time to run and play
We didnít have time to run around,
We didnít have time to do the things they do today
Praise be to God
They needs to know
How sad it is they throw their lives away

They needs to know how we paid with our lives
With our blood for them to be where they are at today
While they stand on corners selling dope, killing each other
Getting drunk, going to jail.
Oh if our forefathers could see them now 
Our fore parents spent life here on earth in a living hell
Not for them to go to jail
But that they might have life
And have it abundantly just as Jesus promised
Thatís the way it ought to be.

It pains me to see where our children are now
But what can I do?
Pray and tell them the story
Of where we have been and where they are going
And oh yes how they are putting us back in slavery 
All over again.
They sing songs calling our women bitches
And whores,
Worst than the white man our young folks are
Carrying on.
Its pains me to hear them sing such horrible songs
The white masters pimped us enough
Now our own are pimping themselves
This stuff got to be inherited
Itís got to be in the blood
Nothing that is being done now 
Is being done out of love.
None of this ugliness has come from above

We had to endure cruel punishments 
If we displeased our owners. 
Many of us knew the risks were great, 
But we would be free 
If we could escape to the North.
We did everything we could to escape the South
But when I hear some of our children I still
Can hear the white manís mouth
Their blood seems to be stronger in the children
Of today then ours.

The same names they called us back them
Our children label themselves now.
Itís got to be in the blood.
Itís got to be inherited
Because it didnít come from us
It came from them.

We inherit from our fathers 
Isnít that what the Good book says?
Light bright make it not right
But corrupted the system of the bearer
One can only imagine what it did to the carrier

Most of our children carry the blood of the
Slave masters.
Some times I can hear them white folks
Laughing at us
About how weíve been sat free
But how we havenít been made free
How our children still donít have any dignity
Or integrity 
If you think I am lying go sit in on the courts
The black children are there wall to wall
They are every where.
And they keep going back like they donít care.

All that anger tries to come up in me
But I go before the Lord and I give it all to Him
Lord Help me.
Lord Help my people
Help them to help themselves be free?

That old slave masterís blood is still following us
In his off springs,
In those mix children created in sin
We have got to pray
We have gotten to stay before the Lord
If we are to save our young folks
If we are to teach them, reach them before itís too late

If they only would listen and loan us their ear
They can see and they would hear
The Truth and turn around.
That devil wanted us then 
And now our young folks are now 
handing themselves to him.
 
If they could only have been taught 
the price we have paid
For their freedom, for their life
If their school books 
If only a few books would have been about us
Had include the truth
Instead of half trues which is no truth at all
And what they do tell is mostly lies
I believe our young folks wouldnít be so willing to die.

If one of us runaway slaves were caught, 
We would face terrible punishment or death
Nonetheless, many of us attempted the journey, 
Often with the help of the Underground Railroad. 

Not much different then they have it now.
Caught in crime they are beaten, thrown in jail
Shot or raped
Found guilty even when innocent by the state.
Whatís it gonna take to wake them up?
They ainít afraid of dying.
They donít care about life
Got nothing and most donít want nothing
At least those in the Ghetto.
Whatís an old woman to do?
I do what I do
I tell them the truth
And I pray Lord take this 
Generational curse away.
Open their eyes, 
Open their ears 
That they might hear what I say.
Send us righteous preachers 
Preachers that will teach and preach the truth 
Under the anointing of the Holy Ghost
Or Lord our children are forever lost
Only a handful is walking the straight and narrow
Only a few respect life
Lord you paid the price
For them as well as the man without color
Wonít You Lord help open the ears to some 
Of these pregnant mothers,
That they might study the truth while that 
Little one is inside.
So he might have a life once he comes outside?
Help us to build up their self respect
Take on your character Lord
Help us to help them before we go and be no more
Lord I come this day asking you to anoint these
Words and give us favor
As You are our only Savor
This I pray In Jesus Christ name
Send that phony preacher away from that pew
We canít do it Lord so we step back
Out of Your way we leave it to You.
To do what You do.
Where ever You lead we will follow
Order our steps children and all
Speak to us Lord tell us what to do.
Tell us Lord 
How to bring our off-springs to You
These things only You can do.
Jesus Christ in our lives Please, come
Live within us and have Your way.
This day I pray.



Unto The Underground Railroad (Part Two) by Catherinebutterfly

© Copyright 2007. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.


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