in the mindset
of an ole ***** spiritual
plantation style
when the long hot days
could only be battled
by singing what would one day
be called the blues
travel with me, all ya’ll
to a humid crop
circa 1837
with the hippest pickers
in all the region….
a little taste:

the foreman, a blue black
towering figure
bag slung
sweat dripping
starts quiet and low
but soon all join in:

masssa gonna whip up good
***** gonna whip us bad
***** gonna whip us smiling
***** gonna whip us sad
***** loves he whip

***** gonna whip us eatin
masssa gonna whip us starved
masssa gonna whip us easy
masssa gonna whip us hard
***** loves he whip

-----The field seems to move in unison now
as each member of the crew
feel the rhythm and sing along in time -----

***** gonna whip my woman
***** gonna whip my chile
***** gonna get a splinter
wont whip me for a while
***** loves he whip

masssa gonnna whip my skin raw
***** gonna turn me red
masssa gonna whip me so hard
make me wish that I was dead
***** love he whip

----The sun is setting now on the plantation
but the song carries late into the eve
as we travel forward in time we hear the faint echoes
from a troubled past ------

***** gonnna whip my po back
***** gonna whip my legs
***** gonna whip my momma
make me scream and make me beg
****** loves he whip