Granddaddy said,

“A gentleman of this land

has an abiding sense of place.”

But they’ll zone

Cabbagetown shotguns for executives, the

Southtown projects for retail space,

foreclose family

farms from McDonough to Calera for

stucco-mansion mazes called Heritage Trace.

Granddaddy, are these really gentlemen

who don’t seem to give a damn about this place?

No, these whitewashing boys

don’t give a good damn about this place.

Granddaddy said,

“A gentleman of this land

has a deference to women.”

But they’ll traipse

through the Highlands, grabbing ladies’

bodies, cussing the spirit within them,

and, in Montgomery and Atlanta,

try to outlaw everybody that

fights back, transcends, or transitions.

Granddaddy, are these really gentlemen,

who try to walk all over women?

No, these puffed-up little boys

are just about scared to death of women.

Granddaddy said,

“A gentleman of this land

is from down-home, old-time folks.”

But they’ll brand

people with the station of their birth, try to

put them to the bullwhip and collar yoke,

and bathe

Juliette’s babies in coal-ash, and feed

Tarrant City’s children on slag and smoke.

Granddaddy, are these really gentlemen,

who have it out for down-home, old-time folks?

No, these no-count boys will try to live off

the sweat of down-home, old-time folks.

Boy, on that lightning day

the rivers all sing

a rolling hallelujah,

and carry us down to

the soft sands

of God’s balmy shore,

I don’t care to see

cash or deeds,

titles or degrees,

but the only trophies

I hope you’ll have to show

will be able hands,

a fertile mind,

a gentle soul.

A gentleman of this land.

A gentleman of this land.

A gentleman of this land.

A gentleman of this land.