It is of course, the origins of to whom we belong,
and not the moral conjecture of right or wrong,
the issue, clear as day's fierce light,
that nullifies the argument of Black or White,
and scorns the moralistic finger on how we behave,
from the purity of our birth to our noble grave;
know we well the nurtured scheme of God, drew
a picture, conceived, drawn in whiteness true.
ni**ger with humour said, a pleasant colour brown.
Nay! tis a being lower than the lowest grown,
how they, in cursive modern times show ingratitude,
course their savage tongues, chant vicissitude,
in massed blackened throngs, their chorus ring
words of lesser understanding, pray, Who is Luther King?
alas! 'tis not easy to converse, with those who lack
intellect,the the sanctuary of our pious ways attack,
from the syndrome of our inner eye, we must Police,
whilst the seething, venomous black mass increase,
but with gas to cast a tear and rifling very sure,
we will the right of superior man restore
in glorious truth, God's visual image, doth invite
visions of the soul, a furnaced image White,
in contrast, blindness deep and sombre darkness rank
of surly deathly Black, with no grey to thank,
that which counterfeits the unchartered gloom,
White"s virginity, of stars and softly glowing moon,
'tis, in the simplicity of all earthly wise men,
that White is right and Black no more than Phlegm,
so, you ni**ger all, you have no right,
for God, through White men, invented Apartheid,
OH! How very sad, yet so beautiful is South Africa,
OH! HOW SINISTER, EUROPEAN TRAMPS, MADE SUCH A MONUMENTAL SCAR.