Just a herd of Negroes
Driven to the field,
Plowing, planting, hoeing,
To make the cotton yield.
When the cotton's picked
And the work is done
Boss man takes the money
And we get none,
Leaves us hungry, ragged
As we were before,
Year by year goes by
And we are nothing more
Than a herd of Negroes
Driven to the field
Plowing life away
To make to cotton yield.
Driven to the field,
Plowing, planting, hoeing,
To make the cotton yield.
When the cotton's picked
And the work is done
Boss man takes the money
And we get none,
Leaves us hungry, ragged
As we were before,
Year by year goes by
And we are nothing more
Than a herd of Negroes
Driven to the field
Plowing life away
To make to cotton yield.
×
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.