Living in a cocoon
Born with a golden spoon
In the mouth,
In the great south,
You had never seen a coon
Elsewhere than in the plantation
And never in his habitation,
So when the civil war
Began not far
From your homeland,
Dreamt as a neverland,
It was a nightmare
That you had to share
With others as a white patron
To see tobacco and cotton
Fields left without caution
To the confederates
And to the northerners,
Not all desperate,
But often dead in the corners.