Ole massa on he trabbels gone; He leaf de land behind: De Lord's breff blow him furder on, Like corn-shuck in de wind. We own de hoe, we own de plough, We own de hands dat hold; We sell de pig, we sell de cow, But nebber chile be sold. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We'll hab de rice an' corn; Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn!
We pray de Lord: he gib us signs Dat some clay we be free; De norf-wind tell it to de pines, De wild-duck to de sea; We tink it when de church-bell ring, We dream it in de dream; De rice-bird mean it when he sing, De eagle when he scream. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We'll hab de rice an' corn: Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail, An' nebber lie de word; So like de 'postles in de jail, We waited for de LordAn' now he open ebery door, An' trow away de key; He tink we lub him so before, We lub him better free.