African School-girls' Song

Beat, beat, beat, dears, beat the golden grain,
For food builds up the sinews, and stimulates the brain,
Just as you beat rice, dears, with your pestle in your hand, You'll beat distrust and bloodshed, out of Africa our land.

Clean, clean, clean, dears, clean the silver fish,
Drop its shimmering, shining scales, then lay it on the dish; 'Tis destined in the future, Young Africans, that you
Shall clean away the scales that hide true Africa from view.

Burn, burn, burn, dears, burn the sweet palm oil,
And every mother's son, dear, will thank you for your toil,
For in the years to come, dears, while other nations shout,
You'll burn the heart of Africa, till all its dross burns out.

Grind, grind, grind, dears, pepper ripe and red,
For the're many hungry eager, strong, black lads, who must be fed; Your dear black hands that guide the stone, will remain faithful still, To guide and comfort Africa, when passing through life's mill.

Copyright (c) Gladys Casely-Hayford aka Acquah Laluah.




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