Beneath this skin of pitch
Is a vast river of gold
Son of the soil, from the land of the mighty
The home of the bold
First child of the source
I close my eyes and see my mother bleed
From the savage wounds
In her hallowed parts, where intruders had forcefully gained entrance
The aftermath of an unholy union
Intended to give them satisfaction at the detriment of our pleasant home
Her scars still hurt, the pain still lingers
400 million Africans, centuries of torture
Brainwashed to forget their past
We that remember will never forget
My skin is black, my bloodline is royalty
My roots never waiver from the shores of my forefathers
My foundations run deep in ancient greatness
I am connected to the motherland.