Where is your culture, White man?
The darkened peoples ask.
You have no culture White man,
There is no glory in which you bask.
Look upon my visage White man,
And see my tattooed face,
And fearsome bone through my nose,
There’s culture in my race.
Where is your glory White man,
Your superstition and fear,
That marks you culturally relevant,
And winds back many a year?
You want to know about us indigene,
And from where we came and whence?
Then prepare ye to eat humble pie,
And vault technology’s fence.
Where are your arts and literature,
Oh man with bone through nose?
Where ever White man travels,
His wonders with him go.
Where are your great technologies,
Your architectures and advances?
Our culture is a little bit more than,
Circling fires with dances.
We fly around in jet aeroplanes,
We drive around in cars,
And if we have nothing better to do,
We’ll send a satellite to Mars.
We have made life so comfortable,
Even for the likes of you,
Who revel in our Western discourses,
Without ever having a clue.
That to White man you owe everything,
And giving Christ His due,
We brought Him to your barbaric lands,
Because salvation is for you.
So do not ask me where my culture is,
It surrounds and embellishes your life,
It keeps you safe from cannibalism,
And all your stone age strife.
