I saw our watchman today
Dressed in gentleman garb
Wig askance on his head
A crowd of negroes in toes
He can now reproduce
Without needing to seduce
Such is the privilege
Bestowed to gunmen here
Who hunger for Indian land
Over perilous oceans
Yet farms need more hands
So, children call him Massa
Sundays he holds the Bible upside down
Sings hymns he will never understand