Negro Spirituals

Way down yonder in the middle of the field
Angels workin at the chariot wheel
Not so particular bout workin at the wheel
I just want to see how that chariot feel
Oh let me fly
Oh let me fly
Oh let me fly to my Zion
Lord Lord

Ezekiel saw the wheel, way up in the middle of the air,
Ezekiel saw the wheel, way in the middle of the air,
The big wheel run by faith, little wheel run by the grace of God
Wheel within a wheel, 'way in the middle of the air,
Wheel, wheel, wheel, wheel in the middle of the air.
Wheel, wheel, wheel, wheel in the middle of the air.

Deep River, my home is over Jordan,
Deep River, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.
Oh don't you want to go
To that gospel feast,
That promised land
Where all is peace.

It's rather disappointing to me that there is not one black person that has responded to this thread.

My dad knew the real words of the black man. They were more chants than songs. With father's day coming up, I have tried to recapture his thoughts.

and then there is the song that intrigued me, because it intrigued my sister.

Black Moonlight
Lost in the shuffle, I've drifted an' strayed
Bruised by the city, bewildered, betrayed
With a heart heavy laden with faltering strides
I have come to the bridge, to the line that divides!

What am I doing up here in a daze
As I gaze at the cold river bed?
Why do I ask myself, "Shall I go back
when I seem to be going ahead?"

To black moonlight!
Where everything reflects your colour
Darkness that is endless.
nights that leave me friendless . . . blue!

Black moonlight!
You make the lights of Harlem duller
Just like me you're faded, jaded and degraded . . . too!
Why must you send . . .
ebony moonbeams, depressing, distressing . . .
like shadows of love that are gone?

Where will it end?
Will it spread on to the starlight, the sunlight
and darken each promise of dawn?

Black moonlight!
I've lost all power to resist you
Madly, I await you, even though I hate you
Black, black moonlight!

I am sure many black persons don't want to be reminded.

This is a modernized version by Belafonte. I have a version by Leadbelly that is not this slick.

Gotta jump down, spin around and pick a bale of cotton
Gotta jump down, spin around and pick a bale a day
Gotta jump down, spin around and pick a bale of cotton
Gotta jump down, spin around and pick a bale a day

I saw 'skeeter on my head,
Blinked his eye and I killed him dead
Gotta jump down, spin around and weed a patch o'turnip,
Gotta jump down, spin around and weed a patch a day
Gotta weed a patch o' turnip
Gotta jump down, spin around and weed a patch o'turnip
Gotta jump down, spin around and weed a patch a day

I saw a gal in calico,
She tripped and fell, and she didn't say hello
Gotta jump down, spin around and cook a mess o'greens,
Gotta jump down, spin around and cook a pot a day
Gotta cook a mess o'greens
Gotta jump down, spin around and cook a mess o'greens
Gotta jump down, spin around and cook a pot a day

I got a pig who's nice and greasy,
All you ladies shake it easy
Gotta jump down, spin around and tote a pail o' water,
Gotta jump down, spin around and tote a pail a day
Gotta tote a pail a day
Gotta jump down, spin around and tote a pail o' water
Gotta jump down, spin around and tote a pail a day

I don't know but I've been told,
A gopher really don't live in a hole
Gotta jump down, spin around and sweat a pail o' water,
Gotta jump down, spin around and sweat a pail a day
Gotta sweat a pail a day
Gotta jump down, spin around and sweat a pail o' water
Gotta jump down, spin around and sweat a pail a day

edgar, reminded of their roots? They are powerful and strong.

The very reason that I started this thread was to send one message--and not one of reparation, but one of firmness in the sense of being.

I must do crazy stuff now, like prepare and fix.
Bummer, ain't it.

I am alone this eve. I am about to prepare the evening repast. Wonder if there are any hotdogs in there?

My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall
You'll hear the trumpet sound,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God's right hand
When the stars begin to fall,
When the starts begin to fall.

My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall
You'll hear the sinner moan,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God's right hand
When the stars begin to fall,
When the starts begin to fall.

My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
My Lord what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall
You'll hear the Christians shout,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God's right hand
When the stars begin to fall,
When the starts begin to fall.

Although not a spiritual in the true sense of the word................

Old man river, that old man river.
He must know something,
But don't say nothin',
He just keeps rollin',
Just keeps on rollin' along.

He don't plant taters,
He don't plant cotton,
And them that plants 'em
Is soon forgotten,
But old man river,
He just keeps rollin' along.

You and me,
We sweat and strain,
Body all achin'
and racked with pain,
Tote that barge,
Lift that bale,
Get a little drunk
And you land in jail.

I gets weary
And sick of tryin'
I'm tired of livin'
And feared of dyin'
But old man river,
He just keeps rollin'
Along.

Did that one from memory.

While not technically a traditional spiritual, this Gil Scott-Heron song has been so influential as to qualify as a modern, political spiritual:

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

WOW, Cav. That's one scary song, but it definitely hit home, just as rap may be considered modern day minstrel.

<pausing to take that in>

All of these are poignant...

Cav, I've never seen or heard your selection before and Letty has my response nailed.

WOW.

Gil Scott-Heron was a genius. I'm a big fan.

I should have said "is" a genuis. The man is still alive.

Cav and JB, Everything is running in threes today. Are either of you aware of the American hostage in Saudi Arabia? Reports say that he was beheaded by Al Quida. All this just after Cav posted that disturbing song.

Another WOW!

Yes, I've been popping into a thread regarding that Letty, sadly started by someone who is completely misguided in judgement, but I don't want to talk about it here.

Letty, yes, I just finished reading your other thread and another in the politics forum.

Will you give me a link, then?

I may have derailed this thread a bit, but here's the link:

http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=27012&highlight=

I just wanted to get the bigotry out of it. My bad.

For once, I actually agreed with McGentrix.

I don't care about derailing, Cav. Thanks.