The disease of men
That put us in pens
The beatings and bruises
That was so abusive

A disease of their mind
Our punishment wasn’t kind
Back then it seemed
That it was okay to be mean

That awful disease
That brought us to our knees
Begging and crying
At the end of the day, we were sighing

Disease of the heart
But not a work of art
Slavery, the disease
It doesn’t have the key
To something that is pure
I’m glad they found a cure.