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Ev’ry bit is ‘cause I say so,
All the Saxxon merino wool,
The linen wove in Egypt’s hands,
Blasted by the desert sands
And refined each pull by pull,
And the calf-skin leather, glistened
With the very own mother’s milk]
Of infant babe, his slaughter past --
Processed not at first, but last –-
And the oriental silk,
And to end, the gold and di’monds
Slung lethargic ‘bout my vessels,
The stones from which each carat came
Killing slaves, with me to blame,
As if they were God’s apostles!

I am a righteous trader;
I deal in just to me.
If you can’t understand
That it’s lain in the land
Then I pray you leave trade be.

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