#AmericanWriters
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John,
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
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
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
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
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria: