#AmericanWriters
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
The ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond and jade, Sit silently on their temple shelv… While the people
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de
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,
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.