Anne Braden

From the color of the faces in sunday's songs

To the hatred they raised all the youngsters on

Once upon a time in this country long ago

She knew there was something wrong

Because the song said yellow, red, black, and white

Everyone precious in the path of christ

But what about the daughter of the woman cleaning their house

Wasnt she a child they were singing about

And if jesus loves us black or white skin

Why didn't her white mother invite them in?

When did it become a room for no blacks to step in?

How did she already know not to ask the question

Left lasting impressions

Adolescence's comforts gone

She never thought things would ever change

But she always knew there was something wrong

She always knew there was something wrong

Years later she found herself mississippi-bound

To help stop the legalized lynching

Of mr. willie mcgee

But they couldnt stop it

So they thought that theyd talk to the governor

About what happened

And say were tired of being used

As an excuse to kill black men

But the cops wouldnt let em past and

These women they struck em as uppity

So they hauled em all off to jail

And they called it protective custody

Then from her cell she heard her jailers

Grumbling about outsiders

And when she called him out

And said she was from the south they shouted

Why is a nice southern lady

Making trouble for the governor?

She said, i guess im not your type of lady

And i guess im not your type of southerner.

But before you call me traitor

Well its plainest just to say

I was a child in mississippi

But im ashamed of it today

Imagine the world that youre standing within

All of your neighbors and family and friends

How would you cope

Facing the fact

The flesh on your hand

Was tainted with sin

She faced it every day

People she saw on a regular basis

People she loved in several cases

People she knew were incredibly racist

It was painful

But she never stopped loving them

Never stopped calling their name

And she never stopped being a southern woman

And she never stopped calling for change

And she saw that her struggle

Was in the tradition

Of ancestors never aware of her

It continues today

The soul of a southerner

Born of the other america