#Americans #Blacks
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music abou… Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest so… Rising out of the ground like a sw…
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
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.
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
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
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 —
Gather quickly Out of darkness All the songs you know And throw them at the sun Before they melt
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!