Bill Bojangles Robinson as happy slave

Yassuh, Massa Trump, suh;
We’s on ah way to da polls.
We b’lieves all yo’ hoopla;
We be’s yo’ salvation souls.

Ya’ll done blowed yo’ horn, now;
We chillins will git aboard,
And wait fo’ yo’ t’ show how
Salvation leads to da Lawd.

Ya’ll’s our Lawd an’ massa,
Wit’ trut’ t’ show us da way.
If we’uns could run fastah,
Den, we’d hab’ mo’ time to pray.

Ya’ll is all we got, suh’
We’uns nevah douted ya’ll once.
Ya’ll’s our bread and buttah;
We’s only haf’-played duh dunce.

We’uns knew ya’ll’d come fo’ us;
Da times would hafta be rhaht.
Heah, now, in mid-August,
It an’ we is hot to trot.

We’uns know all dem bad dings
Dey say dat ya’ll has uttahd
Is just arrah’s an’ slings.
From dose whose bread ya’ll’s buttahd.

Hee, hee, makes us fokes grin–
Now, don’ y’all go gittin mad –
Dey say ya’ll needs us fo’ votin’ --
Da trut’ is dat we’s been had.

We don’ b’lieve it, uh-uh,
Dat scan’lous tawk surrondin’
Dat David Duke fellah –
Disgraceful tawk’s aboundin’!

We’uns heerd dat y’all did –
Raht out, at dat big rally –
Name us, and ya’ll ain’t hid;
Says we’s now palsy-walsy.

The truth is, Mr. Trump,
You really are sub-standard.
Just how you got that bump,
‘Snown only to the Sand Bird.

The Sand Bird, though, tells all
To those with ears wide-open.
He says that in the fall,
The people shall have spoken.

Your messianic voice
A third of us has captured.
There is another choice
To take – though not enraptured.

As, “All the king’s horses...”
Never learned to un-crack eggs,
Neither can fresh orchids
Acquaint assholes with square pegs!

Happy Slave Cap

Curtis W. Long

Curtis W. Long

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