Clink, Clink

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Clink, clink, the shackles clink, clink, the shackles—
Moon bright, big dipper in sky, lead I at slavery’s end
Old man sits, sits down by river
Knowing well, well the shackles clink, clink
Feet bruised, hands black and blue, well knowing shackles clink
Little girl by cotton, little girl by cow, looks to little girls with pretty hands,
and curly hair that bounces like frog hop.
Little girl by river, when you bathe in the winter, see your skin don’t change
And you see by and by, that you wish you were white, so hands wouldn’t bleed
from this over heating heat of the winter of the south, not like Africa but like
America
And shackles clink, shackles clink, going by and by, shackles.
Me God, what You be up to that you let little girl live with dirty eyes and not to
make them blue?
Me want to see little girl live big, with dirty skin? No, wash Them whiter than
snow and make little girl see that shackles no clink, shackles no clink.
But prayer never answer. Little girl be black as ash, little girl be dirty as dirt and
man no see bruise on little girl hands.
Little girl work morning, little girl work late, little girl not fed, and little girl be
beat.
Little girl be mad, little girl be bad, little girl be beat, little girl run, little girl run
Little girl run, away from America but to Africa, run pass little girl with curly hair,
pass river that never changes color, pass cow, pass from cotton, pass from
shackles that go clink, clink.
Go to old man that sits down by river, go to moon bright, with big dipper in sky
and go pass clink, clink, clink.





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