This place I often think about
Is a place of warmth
And a place where people go fishing for trout
This place is a place of history
This is a place of unrest
Also a place of intense slavery
A place of black and white hands
A place of war
A place of segregation
And not a place of what people wore
This is a place of the old
Yet still a place of the new
At least of what I am told

This place is a place of war,
It consists of plantations
And went through Reconstruction’s
terrible blows with a great fight
The creatures of this nation work day and night
Yet they sleep all day and all night
The creatures are black and white
Still there are some who are yellow and brown
like the southern ground
THis place of unrest
Is all full of people who protest
Other places have hippies
This place has two Mississippi’s
You will find reconstruction
In their war’s aftermath
We called this place the old south
and their enemies the north
but now all that remains
Is a dream in a cloud of dust