America, it is to thee,
Thou boasted land of liberty,-
It is to thee I raise my song
Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong.
It is to thee, my native land,
From which has issued many a band
To tear the black man from his soil,
And force him here to delve and toil;
Chained on your blood-be moistened sod,
Cringing beneath a tyrant’s rod,
Stripped of those rights which Nature’s God
Bequeathed to all the human race,
Bound to a pretty tyrant’s nod,
Because he wears a paler face…
