I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—

It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.

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

Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.

The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know

Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass

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

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…

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

Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.

By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.