Blues Had The Pulse Beat Of The

Summer Was Made To Give You A Taste Of What Hell Is Like. Winter Was Made For Landladies To Charge High Rents And Keep Cold Radiators And Make A Fortune Off Of Poor Tenants.

If The Government Can Set Aside Some Spot For A Elk To Be A Elk Without Being Bothered, Or A Buffalo To Be A Buffalo Without Being Shot Down, There Ought To Be Some Place Where A Negro Can Be A Negro Without Being Jim Crowed.

Melting Pot Harlem-harlem Of Honey And Chocolate And Caramel And Rum And Vinegar And Lemon And Lime And Gall. Dusky Dream Harlem Rumbling Into A Nightmare Tunnel Where The Subway From The Bronx Keeps Right On Downtown.

I Got The Weary Blues And I Can't Be Satisfied.

Keep Your Hand On The Plow. Hold On.