Unwanted Gifts

by Harlen Whitamore

Give him back your weighted chain, his cottonseed
Give him back his devil rum, pestering plagues, his trading beads
Give him back his harsh Christian love, his wormy beef
Give him back his commodity cheese, his government relief

Give him back his black book bible, he doesn't follow the rules
Give him back his dunce hat, let him be his own fool
Give him back his corrupt court laws, that the green dollar buys
Give him back his whipping scars, give him back his darkened skies

Give him back the hate he put in your heart, your rueful tears
Give him back your ownership papers, your wasted years
Give him back his waterless desert lands, that won't grow weeds
Give him back his troubled ghetto towns, and the despair it breeds

Give him back his lying words and disappearing ink
Give him back his billy clubs and jailhouse drunk tank
Give him back his back seat of a bus, tear it out
Throw it down at his feet, throw it down. Give it back
Give him back your tears and blood, tear down the dam
Give him back his apple pie that his body bags, his posters of Uncle Sam

Give him back your babies he sold and killed, your children he raped
Give him back what he gave you, give more than he can take
Give him back his death camp chain gangs, and gallons of sweat from your bodies
Give him back your false hopes and dreams, throw it in his face

Give this all back lest he forget his Christian love he gave you
His American propaganda can't hide the truth he knows is true
Then give him love, not false Christian love, but love anyway
Send him your forgiveness and hope that he may forget greed someday

Send him your medicine bag, that he might lose his lust, for Godlike power
Send to him your most prized voodoo doll, pined with a curing flower
Send to him by the four winds, a magic powder, to stop his want for war
Then send to me a pint of wine, and the key to heaven's door

Send to him happy thoughts peace and all the things love can render
But don't be surprised when it comes back stamped return to sender
	For stiff neck bureaucrats admit no wrong, in pomp voice
Will always say, to build our country enslaving and stealing land,
	Was out only, choice our only way

	Inspired by Langston: 
      Who Walked By the Stream

Unwanted Gifts by Harlen Whitamore

© Copyright 2004. 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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