Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
Well, children, were there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that it wixt the negroes of the South and the women of the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all this here talking about?
That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm!
The clothes got wet but not the souls
From the forceful pouring of the hoses
The spirits were ne'er dampened
Though evil attempts were rampant
Flames were fueled and denied shame
To lay hands on the real aged old blame
Overcoming second class citizenry
Ne'er use the killing children bombs
'Cause we're ready to die
Believe it and that's no lie
Change the guard
Here comes a new age start!!!
When Sister Rosa sat on that bus, she didn't sit alone,
She had the visible image of the Master on the high throne.
There were passengers on that bus that no eye could see,
She was riding with people who had never been free.
Their time had come to sit and ride anywhere,
The day was now with no time to spare.
Cottin pickin' time had lasted for hundreds of years,
So taking a seat anywhere was without fear
Ridin' didn't quench the thirst of the workers of the fields
They needed more of what a water fountain could give
With their brow, so hot none wanted to think,
They sighted God'
If we must die, let it not belike hogs hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, while round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, o let us nobly die, so that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us through dead!
O kinsmen! We must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?