In 1600 I was a darkie,
Until 1865, a slave,
In 1900 I was a nigger
Or at least, that was my name.
In 1960 I was a negro,
And then brother Malcom came along,
And then some nigger shot Malcom down,
But the bitter truth lives on.
Martin is dead,
With Martin as our leader,
We prayed, and marched,
And marched, and prayed,
Things were changing,
Things were getting better,
But things were not together.
With Malcom as our leader,
We learned,
And thought
And thought we had learned,
Things were better,
Things were changing,
But things were not together.
And now it is your turn,
We are tired of praying, and marching, and thinking, and learning,
Brothers wanna start cutting, and shooting, and stealing, and burning,
You are three hundred years ahead in equality,
But next summer may be too late
To look back.
In 1600 I was a darkie,
And until 1865 a slave,
In 1900 I was a nigger
Or at least that was my name.
In 1960 I was a negro,
And then Malcom came along,
Yes, but some nigger shot Malcom down,
Though the bitter truth lives on.
Well, now I am a black man,
And though I still go second class
Where as once I wanted the white man's love,
Now he can kiss my ass!