IT is for sale, this product that we stole.
A prime specimen IT is, too bad IT lacks a soul.
Built for picking cotton and you can rape IT late at night,
and if you want to lash ITS back, you can do so; that’s your right.
Beat IT and chain IT and fetter ITS hands and feet.
Strip IT when you sell IT and give me a receipt.
I’m ITS master and ITS my slave from now until the end,
this product out of Africa and from all that shall descend.
For centuries, we’ve enslaved IT and we cannot break ITS spirit.
There is naught else we can do and that is why we kill IT.
Pass laws to stop ITS movements, make IT beg and make IT crawl.
And watch us gun IT down as IT bleeds out when IT falls.
IT should know that we’re ITS owner and a slave IT’ll always be.
There’s only one way this will end because we’ll never set IT free.
Shelby I. Courtland
©2014 Shelby I. Courtland
I’m not your ‘IT’ motherfuckers!