#AmericanWriters
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t