Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold

Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right

I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,

Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,

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 —

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

You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves

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