The Black man is a wounded leopard —
He may moan and cry all he wants
But all of them will pass him by.

The Black man is a wounded leopard —
His pelt of gold is spotted red for
His eyes of dread don’t tear no more.

The Black man is a wounded leopard—
His lustrous eyes leak with wet,
His mind is yet gone to the sweet beyond.

The Black man is a wounded leopard —
Of fangs and strength unbounded, yes —
A beast surrounded in the white woods.

The Black man is a wounded leopard—
He’s fine, he’s fine! They scream and shout
But in due time, he’ll lose his fight.

The Black man is a wounded leopard—
A soldier of a war he does not know,
Lions with intentions of tar shall encroach.

The Black man is a wounded leopard—
A poacher’s catch cast into iron doom
To rot there last without the light of day.

The Black man is a wounded leopard—
My oh my, how his soul does cry!
To the moon he sighs, resolved to die.

We are stuck in our trees, staring down—
Who are you? Who are we?
Nobody knows but the mollies
And they gave up long ago.