That all men equal were created,
How often have we heard it stated.
Chorus. My old massa, &c.
But now we look about and see,
That we poor blacks are not so free;
We’re whipped and thrashed about like fools,
And have no chance at common schools.
Chorus. Still, my old massa, &c.
They take our wives, insult and mock,
And sell our children on the block,