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Their owner was Mosby, and neighbor of him.
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They say the sky seemed seized with rain and lightning,
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On the night of August thirtieth one could see nor stand.
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The militias’ let loose to hunt Gabriel Prosser,
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Who took to the swamps as they imprisoned his men.
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Flagged a boat whose captain was a Methodist preacher,
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But a traitor slave turned him in in the end.
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They hung Gabriel down at Broad and 15th Street,
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Lord he would not give a word up on his men.
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But he took that noose and he took it with honor,
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He’s buried beneath a lot of parked cars, now, and pavement.
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There’s no monument, there’s no stone here to see him,
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Just black asphalt planked by high-rise hospital chains.
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If I had it my way we’d see memorials climbin',
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To a true and honest hero, Prosser’s Gabriel.
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Now does anyone know the name Gabriel Prosser?
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My conscience says he’s the one that history missed.
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A blacksmith by trade up at Brookfield Plantation,
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A Henrico County slave born of owner Thomas.