Ev’ry bit is ‘cause I say so,
All the
Saxxon merino wool,
The
linen wove in
Egypt’s hands,
Blasted by the desert sands
And refined each pull by pull,
And the
calf-skin leather,
glistened
With the very own mother’s milk]
Of infant babe, his slaughter past --
Processed not at first, but last –-
And the
oriental silk,
And to end, the
gold and
di’monds
Slung lethargic ‘bout my
vessels,
The stones from which each
carat came
Killing slaves,
with me to blame,
As if they were God’s apostles!
I am a righteous trader;
I deal in just to me.
If you can’t understand
That
it’s lain in the land
Then I pray you leave trade be.