#AmericanWriters
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
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
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
When the old junk man Death Comes to gather up our bodies And toss them into the sack of obl… I wonder if he will find The corpse of a white multi—millio…
When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red
I know I am The Negro Problem Being wined and dined, Answering the usual questions That come to white mind
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
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 —
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.