We The People

by Donald R. Barbera



We the people, the ones youíve separated with names
We the people, are growing tired of your political games
We the people, have been human test tubes for bad blood
We the people, are strange fruit grown from African mud.
We the people, are tired of white lies and black deception
We the people, tire of drug streets with capitol connections
We the people, need jobs, education and just half a chance
We the people, are not impressed with same song and dance
We the people, have stood centuries waiting in an unmoving line
We the people, crushed grapes of freedom but have not tasted its wine
We the people, laid this countryís strong lasting foundation
We the people, shouldered the labor of birthing a nation.
We the people, laid the logs of freedom that you take for granted
We the people, tilled the soil where the seeds of hate are planted.
We the people, marched in dark parades just to gain your attention
We the people, have suffered indignities too numerous to mention
We the people, have been thankful for the things that we get
We the people, fully realize that you havenít done nothing yet.


We The People by Donald R. Barbera

© Copyright 1999. 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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