We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness–
Being walkers with the sun and morning.
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By what sends
I ain’t sent:I know I can’tbe President.What don’t bugthem white kidssure bugs me:We know everybodyain’t free.Lies written downfor white folksain’t for us a-tall:Liberty And Justice–Huh!–For All?
I, too, sing America.
They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.Tomorrow,I’ll be at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody’ll dareSay to me,‘Eat in the kitchen,’Then.Besides,They’ll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed–I, too, am America.
How still,
The water is today,It is not goodFor waterTo be so still that way.
Night funeral
Where did they getThem two fine cars?Insurance man, he did not pay–His insurance lapsed the other day–Yet they got a satin boxfor his head to lay.Night funeralIn Harlem:Who was it sentThat wreath of flowers?Them flowers camefrom that poor boy’s friends–They’ll want flowers, too,When they meet their ends.Night funeralin Harlem:Who preached thatBlack boy to his grave?Old…
Fine living . . . a la carte?
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!Look! See what Vanity Fair says about thenew Waldorf-Astoria:‘All the luxuries of private home. . . .’Now, won’t that be charming when the last flop-househas turned you down this winter?Furthermore:‘It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotelworld. . . .’ It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-mous Oscar Tschirky is in…
My old mule,
He’s been a mule so longHe’s forgotten about his race.I’m like that old mule —Black — and don’t give a damn!You got to take meLike I am.