| When the white man first came here from over the seas
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| He looked and he said, this is God’s own country
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| He was mighty well pleased with this land that he’d found
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| And he said I will make here my own piece of ground
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| Now many’s the battle he still had to fight
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| Many’s the family that died in the night
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| For many were the black men that lived all around
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| And all of them wanting their own piece of ground
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| Then one fine day in 1883
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| Gold was discovered in good quantity
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| The country was rich, much richer than planned
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| And each digger wanted his own piece of land
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| Now the white diggers were few and the gold was so deep
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| That the black man was called 'cause his labor was cheap
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| With drill and with shovel he toiled underground
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| For six pennies a day to tender the ground
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| Now this land is so rich and it seems strange to me
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| That the black man whose labor has helped it to be
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| Cannot enjoy the fruits that abound
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| Is uprooted and kicked from his own piece of ground
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| Some people say now don’t you worry
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| We’ve kept you a nice piece of reserve territory
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| But how can a life for so many be found
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| On a miserable thirty per cent of the ground?
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| Yet, some people say now don’t you worry
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| You can always find jobs in the white man’s city
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| But don’t stay too long and don’t stay too deep
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| Or you’re bound to disturb the white man in his sleep
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| White man don’t sleep long and don’t sleep too deep
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| Or your life and your possessions, how long will you keep?
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| For I’ve heard a rumor that’s running around
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| That the black man’s demanding his own piece of ground
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| His own piece of ground |