In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper

You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.

My old man’s a white old man And my old mother’s black. If ever I cursed my white old man I take my curses back. If ever I cursed my black old mot…

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

How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,

Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—

I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,

Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:

The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.