| Summer sun beats down
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| On Virginia's cotton fields
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| Strong hands work the strong black earth
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| To the call of the chickadee
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| A tall man rides with shiny boots
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| On a horse named Robert E. Lee
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| Now whip will crack and tear men's backs
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| And ankle chains will gleam
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| He said eagles fly and rabbits run
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| And fire leaps from tree to tree
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| You may think you belong to you
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| But you belong to me
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| You belong to me
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| You belong to me
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| Yeah you belong to me
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| Shiny boots cut 'cross the wet grass
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| Door hinge creaks 'bout quarter to three
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| Slave quarters are still and silent
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| Strong hand covers her mouth as she sleeps
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| She holds her breath and prays that death
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| Will lift her from this dream
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| In the next room her young children are cryin'
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| When they hear that muffled scream
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| He said eagles fly and rabbits run
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| And fire leaps from tree to tree
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| You may think you belong to you
|
| But you belong to me
|
| You belong to me
|
| You belong to me
|
| Yeah you belong to me
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| Fire lept behind the stranger
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| As he stood upon the porch
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| In his right hand he held a shotgun
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| In his other hand a torch
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| Master's shot went wide
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| Nat Turner stood him on his knees
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| The plantation burned around them
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| Master cursed and whispered, "Please"
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| Nat threw the torch aside
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| So his other hand was free
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| He cocked back the hammer
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| The fire lept from tree to tree
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| He said eagles fly and rabbits run
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| And fire leaps as you can see
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| You may think you belong to you
|
| But you belong to me
|
| You belong to me
|
| You belong to me
|
| Yeah you belong to me |