Dark pigmented,

Epitome of my motherland, With the beauty of the soil, The rich soil of Africa, Isn't it with you resides the beauty of knowledge? Raised beyond standards We have, the praise of our tormentors, With our strong mind brain, We succumb to them, Portraying inferiority, our ego belittled. Our culture, our natural heritage, We named old school, Compelled beyond resistance, Or maybe,we choose to obey Our own,we label barbaric , Our tradition we lay waste, We've picked up a culture without a known origin, What happened to the pride rooted in the cultures we ditch aside?