The Plantation

The slaves work in the fields all day,
They shuck the corn and reap the hay.
Their backs face toward the sun,
Never having any fun.

The master comes and whips them hard,
He thinks that they work like a pound of lard.
Yells the orders to kill the weak,
But keeps the young nice and meek.

The children run naked through their huts,
With their feet covered in cuts.
Their skin is as dark as night,
Even without picking a single fight.

The house is kept in a quiet order,
Nothing dirty gets pass its border.
Shoes and socks are left at the doorway,
And left to wash at the end of the day.

Their day is done,
With the sun.
But rises again,
When the sun leaves bed.