Dun ferget ter pay me.

Dun mattah who it be, if yer need ah goopher den yer need ter pay. Us cojuh ‘oman gotta make a livin’. Bellies dun git full on roots an’ goophers. All freedom dun com’ at a price. Freedom ain’t free. Folks lik’ us knows tha’ bettah than most anyon’ else.

Whassit worth ter yer? Yer life? Der skin off yer back? Or tha’ there stolen honey? Nea’h rotten fruit an’ bone dry bread? I dun ask fer lots.

I charge dem white folk mo’ den yer.

Mars Dugal’ tuk a basket ah food ter mer cabin fer me ter goopher de grapevimes.

Ah’ clean up yer messis, an’ yer gotta gib me wuz mine.

 

Us conjuring women still gotta eat.

Foxes, trees, wolves, and mules. Not everything can fill this here belly. We can’t do everything for free. Our stomachs still be growling, our backs still cracking like bone chips in a bowl, and we still got them scars from before the war. We tear them roots out of the ground, black hands covered in mud and muck – have you ever wondered what we sacrifice for your miracles?

Blood, sweat, tears, and flesh.

Pay us what we are owed and we won’t come looking for you.

 

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