Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored

To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening

You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.

Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!

2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be

When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left

When a man starts out with nothing… When a man starts out with his han… Empty, but clean, When a man starts to build a world… He starts first with himself

Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment