Being black
Is a color
But being a slave
I don't stomach it
It wears me out
To work so much all day long
The lands of the damned lord
The fellows
Think alike
Of there's a Spatacus
Who doesn't waste time
And changes this
Or we all go back to Gambia
From Kunta Kinte to today
Little improvements
Let's see if now with the civil war
They admit our cotton union
That namely
Wants to obtain
Sunday free days, a normal income
Two bonuses, a holiday month
And a pension after retirement
To be treated
With dignity
Like fellows
Emigrants
To end with
The wipes
The lord's whips
And the droit de seigneur
And who feels like it, go back
To Senegal
To run naked on the jungle
With the wife and the boy
To go natural
Raising neck and forehead
Like sister ostrich
For not being told
That we're zulus
To sing this blues