I stood on the shore when the soldiers came,
General Order 3 said I was free by name.
But the cotton still called, and the sun still burned—
And the men with whips hadn't all yet learned.
So I ran to the cabin where my wife might be—
To take her hand before they chained her memory.
Freedom keeps coming—
(Not on time, but still it comes.)
Freedom keeps coming—
(On tired legs and beating drums.)
Not a gift, not a grace—
(But a road we chase.)
Freedom keeps coming,
(It's the journey we trace.)
They gave us chalk and broken boards,
One-room shacks with splintered floors.
I taught their names and how to write—
Taught them all day, by lamp at night.
The Bureau watched, but threats came fast—
They burned our books to burn our past.
Freedom keeps coming—
(Not on time, but still it comes.)
Freedom keeps coming—
(On tired legs and beating drums.)
Not a gift, not a grace—
(But a road we chase.)
Freedom keeps coming,
(It's the journey we trace.)
They said the North was freer ground,
So I boarded that train when the sun went down.
Took a suitcase, a skillet, and Mama’s hymn,
Left behind cotton, but not what had been.
We held Juneteenth in a neighbor’s yard—
A feast, a prayer, and freedom scarred.
Freedom keeps coming—
(Not on time, but still it comes.)
Freedom keeps coming—
(On tired legs and beating drums.)
Not a gift, not a grace—
(But a road we chase.)
Freedom keeps coming,
(It's the journey we trace.)
I marched in ‘60 with my father’s cane,
His Juneteenth stories lit my flame.
They jailed us for sitting, hosed us for peace,
But we held our ground, we didn’t cease.
I spoke his name when I cast my vote—
Each step we took, we walked by hope.
Freedom keeps coming—
(Not on time, but still it comes.)
Freedom keeps coming—
(On tired legs and beating drums.)
Not a gift, not a grace—
(But a road we chase.)
Freedom keeps coming,
(It's the journey we trace.)
They teach us not to speak too loud,
Say justice came—don’t question how.
But I say the names they tried to hide,
And march with fire they can’t divide.
We still hold Juneteenth in the street—
With lifted signs and blistered feet.
Freedom keeps coming—
(Not on time, but still it comes.)
Freedom keeps coming—
(On tired legs and beating drums.)
Not a gift, not a grace—
(But a road we chase.)
Freedom keeps coming,
(It's the journey we trace.)
This day was born in blistered hands,
But it holds the dream of every land.
Not just for some, but all who yearn—
For justice deep, and truth returned.
Juneteenth is yours—both scar and spark—
A second birth to light the dark.