by Jeremy Wayne Couch
"Ten and twenty blackbirds
baked in a pie."
Now why you s'pose them birds was black?
An' why you s'pose I talk like that?
I kin talk as purty an' propah as you.
Oh, but I'm not purty or propah
if whut you think is true.
I'm beautiful! I know I am
'cause my mama tol' me so
an' my mama know thangs
you ain't nevah gonna know.
My mama know the crack of the whip
an' she know whut it like ta pick
the cotton wit' her own brown han',
dyin' while tendin' the life
of other people's land.
My mama know whut it's like ta be owned
an' how it feel to be thrown to da ground.
She learnt where babies come from
when she was jus' thirteen 'cause Mastah
thought she was such a purty, lil' thang.
My mama know whut it like to be lonely
an' cold
an' how it feel ta be twenty an' old.
My mama know whut it like to see
your childrun sold.
'Bout the only thang she don' know
Is where mos' those childrun go.
My mama know thangs
you should thank the Lord
you ain't nevah gonna know.