new generation slave

into this world, i came, filled with fear, crying all the time, i guess my birth, left a great scar, on my heart and mind, now i hand-pick cotton, and struggle to sing, "i am happy and i do what i like", but my voice breaks, and i start to hate, my singing, and simply everyone, mama told me, be good, work hard, and love mr. god, every sunday, i lie, trying to realize why, ain't nothing more to say, your honor, don't look at me like that, the truth is, i am a free man, but i can't enjoy my life, i came to a standstill, with lies and hopes inside my head, always seemed too late to turn, and too soon to understand, no, i don't have a stomach ache, it's just my face. i got stuck, i ran aground, i got used to spewing bile, i wonder whether all those years, hadn't been a waste of time, so how am i doing?, oh, i can complain, smoke too many cigarettes, but i don't care.