#AmericanWriters
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…
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I woke up this mornin’ ’Bout half-past three. All the womens in town Was gathered round me. Sweet gals was a-moanin’,
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
I’m all alone in this world, she s… Ain’t got nobody to share my bed, Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand— The truth of the matter’s I ain’t got no man.
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
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 —