#AmericanWriters
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
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,
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
Good morning, daddy! Ain’t you heard The boogie—woogie rumble Of a dream deferred? Listen closely:
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is… (America never was America to me.…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
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 —
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
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