#AmericanWriters
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
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
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself