And the slaves danced on
by: PurpZeY Purplefield
I retell this poem as was told to me by a gypsy when I was a young boy.
A famous fat man, named the king,
Many famous tunes he did sing.
He had fans, that he enslaved alot.
And one day as he sat on the pot,
A revolution came to him,
And left his fate all to grim.
The slaves they came all dressed in blue,
A dancing to a tune I once knew,
A tune I beleive call Swan Lake,
And to sing would make my throat ache.
The next day that fat man did die,
All his fans cryed and cryed.
And to this day they all say,
He aint dead, there aint no way.