I am a field negro now
Exodusing from these wretched plains
Pour holy palm wine, wash away this wasted shame
Blood is thicker than cotton or sugar cane
I don't think you're ready for the pain
I don't think you're ready for the change, mate
You are a field negro too, son
Leave Candance Owens by the plantation
Foolish us, thinking the overseer even had the keys to these chains
How could we expect the dungeon keeper to make the rules and play fair this game?
Oh, bless your greed
For not granting me the little I asked of you
I would have played the fiddle and tap-danced for you
I would have settled for some skittles and a safe path home
Tightened-up my belts
Lightened-up my skin
Bitten down my tongue
I begged you for an inch
Lemme have some liquor and a flatscreen
A minute for my mind, scraps for my sandwich
You had me saying
Prayers in your language
You made me forget my gods
You had me question my spirits
Forsake my prophets and
Then YOU cursed me with
Trevor Philips
Oh, the pale-faced, cheek of it
One knee on my back, one knee on my lungs
Telling me to run sprint times in a marathon
Keep calm and carry on
Oh, the audacity
The caucasity of it all
Thank you
For refusing me that inch
Because now I do not recognise your yardstick
The scales have toppled
The curtains have collapsed
The blonde baboon's arse is bare in the open
And I am a field negro now
I do not want your equality
It was never yours to give me
And even then it was too minor, too little, too late
Pull the balaclava over my heart and set it running
My revolution rides a black horse and it is stunning
Get me my flowers
Shower their petals over my escape route
Molotov cocktails as my banner
Skull and crossbones as my skin tone
Babylon burn down is my jam, mate
It's my ringtone
We are rolling your monuments down the streets like tobacco
Tossing your effigies into the river, they weren't even worth a pyre
Let me show you what you've taught me about crime
Forget a piece, we want the whole pie and the "Everything Must Go" sign
We are all field negroes now, just dead the talk, get me my bag
Maybe one day we'll see eye to eye on fancy furniture
But right now though, right now though
Sorry not sorry #burn it all
Just burn it all!
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
