Aren’t we weak souls?
Defeated, never fought back.
Taken as slaves,
Scattered, never came back.
Our history, written for
For our hands — these hands —
Are incapable of holding precious pens.
Our ideas, thought for
For these heads are incapable of original thought.
Aren’t we helpless folk?
In need of everyone’s help,
Jesus, Mohamed, and Foreign aid.
Look at us,
Our hungry kids posters,
Our war ridden, barren land
Our empty wombs,
Lost children in burned out tombs.
And look at them,
Godlike pop stars
In oversized cars
Feeding our children.
Truth is,
We are overly generous and welcoming people.
We clear our reserves, kill our animals
Just so they can mine uranium
Tax Free!
We let them explore
Our water-bodies, land and souls.
Search for gems, and oil
Take sample soil
10,000 tons of useless sand
Because our hands — these hands —
Are incapable of holding precious stones
They are only capable of holding treacherous pens
To sign shady, lasting a hundred years, deals.
Truth is believed lies,
That we need allies
To get out of our “black” misery,
Strengthen our weaknesses,
Turn a continent into a single nation,
And a million cultures into a simple minority.
In need of everyone’s help
And one white God
Worshiped in Arabic tone.
Ooh we helpless folk,
Truth is, We believed their Lies.
