They work like mules
For wages kept in pools.
They keep together
No matter the leather
That strikes them so lucid
With offending whips rigid
Until their blood ran frigid.
Beware of ships ashore bringing plight
Of their old-world privilege and presumed right
With steel helmeted conquerors
Insisting the dicta of the preemptors
Who slave their service
And subjugate the natives as a premise
That forward: brown skin
Wear as the King’s nameless kin.
Understand those mess-i-can hordes
Wii become extensions of old Aztec cords
That will rule and regain
Once their blood’s offerings reign
Flowing north as the red sunrise
Crosses plains of the blue skies.
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