Keep Your Hand On The Plow. Hold

Hang Yourself, Poet, In Your Own Words. Otherwise, You Are Dead.

The Rhythm Of Life Is A Jazz Rhythm

Though You May Hear Me Holler, And You May See Me Cry-- I'll Be Dogged, Sweet Baby, If You Gonna See Me Die.

I Swear To The Lord, I Still Can't See, Why Democracy Means, Everybody But Me.

Money And Art Are Far Apart.