The Work

Pushed to the side and always passed by I do the deeds that are whipped out of me You can not stand up You can not say no Just bow your head and say, yes sir You do not think You do not feel They make an animal out of me. My feet are sore from all the work The bus my ticket home The putrid smell of working mens sweat hangs in the air The pain of my feet throbs The fault is mine when I refuse to stand for one rich snob to sit I stand my ground by sitting where others stand and cry at the pain The pain of my feet throbs. No longer can the pain touch my feet, No longer can it hold me there, A free woman is who I am today MLK is the shepherd of the flock, with his strong word we are set free. No longer will they make an animal out of me.