#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head w… Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the… The rain makes running pools in th…
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
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
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
