Pilgrims and Indians hand in hand, feasting on this beautiful land…
1614 lock ‘em up.
Chain ‘em, gag ‘em, throw ‘em up.
“Patuxet”, they’ve never heard this name…
“Patuxet”, just another word for slave.
Bounty of skins set across the ocean,
White privilege leaving behind disease unknown.
Lone survivor on a shore covered in blood,
Stood strong with good in his heart,
He wanted to see them thrive.
One year down,
One selfless Patuxet,
One feast breeding friendship?…
1637 men, women, and children,
700 men, women, and children,
700 men, women, and children of the Pequot tribe gathered in true spirit of the Green Corn Festival.
Those who dared —- clubbed or shot.
Those too scared —- set ablaze.
Turned to ash in a crippled haze.
“A day of thanksgiving!” They proclaimed.
A feast for murderous plunder —-
Oh, there’s no better way.
Pillage after pillage,
Victory for blood.
“Thanksgiving! A celebratory feast over heathen savages!” Declared the very house of God.
Rolling skinned heads through joyous streets,
Chiefs beheaded —- slammed into cold metal.
“Feast!” They said with blood in the air.
“Feast!” They said with scalps entangled there.
Great white father suggests just one per Winter…
Just one feast for the blood they spilled…
For the children they killed.
Honest Abe decreed a national holiday —-
Honest Abe decreed a day of thanksgiving —-
Honest Abe decreed 38 hangings.
38 innocent skins dangling from rope in the name of thanksgiving.