40 Acres in A Prison
Black Folk Reservations
Started out as slavery
Ended up as reparations
No 40 acres & no mule
But lots of regulations & lots of rules
A concrete box ruled by hearts of stone
No peace... no Freedom...No home to call my own
40 acres in a prison
I've got to make the most of what I have
Dixie is in the White House
Bizness as usual
Black folks for sale

Native Americans shouldn't be homeless
That's why White Man gave them reservations
40 acres in a prison
Depression engineered for generations
Let alcohol console you
While welfare cons control you
Cheesy handouts or
Manipulating hands up for a price
Play the Game or lose your life
Be a general in Satan's Army
Go after what you want at any cost
Don't worry about folks you may be hurting
They are simply losers... Already lost.
Limitations like locks & shackles
Strings attached like ropes & chains
Offensive players viciously tackle
You've got to learn how to play The Game
If born with money you must stick to your own
If poor you must sell out or stand all alone
Surrounded by handlers clever & charming
Designed to control without alarming
Whether from behind bars of steel or bars of music
Professional sports... civil & corporate slaves
Or drug addicts stressing beyond reason
self destructing into early graves

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