Who's The Boss?

Hunting in the sacred forest
Drums are beating in a chorus
For them hunting isn't a choice
Then out of nowhere a booming voice
Then a swarm of poison darts
Children begging from their hearts
Chains to clamp survivors souls
In the morning they'll be sold
A big boat they march upon
The slave "owners" see no wrong
A lack of food, a lack of beds
Not a place to rest their head
The ride, as bumpy as can be
All slaves now know that their at sea
The boat arrives at the docks
The slaves gets freed from their locks
Single file, a desperate march
Beaten blue to the touch
But in the end they bow to fear
Tools that makes them shed a tear
But in the end their the boss
Not the slave owner on their horse