Landlords. being what they are...back in the long before, a many a Gael or Celt, took ship, couldn't afford the rent...sail't or swam, to America. Domesday book record the awful plague, was in those times, but, potato rot...really did'm in...when, they was nut'n left ta stay.
So, they comes to America, land o' new hope...and they finds, they has to fight, for ev'ry inch, o' anything. This was noth'n new. They ends up in the gold fields, in the coal mines, in the copper pits, industrial sweat shops...slaves ta the wage, or noth'n but luck.
Was a bloody murder, and the war came 'long...the 'civil one', they say, wasn't noth'n civil t 'all. One by one, and hundreds, and in thousands...down they fell, upon the ground. Landlords haint changed, still the devils, steal'n ev'ry dime...from the mouths o' the hungry, and the try'n.
A great nation was built, on the backs and the sweat and injustice o' slavery...and that, after they 'took the native home', calling it their own...'manifest destiny'. They call it, 'the melting pot', like they do to gold...they melt us down, from ev'ry country...'we are one'!
But, we still ain't free...'cept in our mind. They try'n hard, ta have that. Y'all be careful out there. Put your faith and your soul...in that, that can't be stole, in God, in family, in love...and hang on tightly to what's true. It's hard to know, they lie so well...but, it's still 'the landlords' do'n it all!
Amen!
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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