Most Musicians Remain Poor. But The Music

Because My Mouth Is Wide With Laughter And My Throat Is Deep With Song, You Do Not Think I Suffer After I Have Held My Pain So Long? Because My Mouth Is Wide With Laughter You Do Not Hear My Inner Cry? Because My Feet Are Gay With Dancing You Do Not Know I Die?

It Is The Duty Of The Younger Negro Artist . . . To Change Through The Force Of His Art That Old Whispering "i Want To Be White," Hidden In The Aspirations Of His People, To "why Should I Want To Be White? I Am A Negro - And Beautiful!"

Let The Rain Kiss You. Let The Rain Beat Upon Your Head With Silver Liquid Drops. Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby.

The First Of The Month Falls Every Month, Too, North Or South. And Them White Folks Who Sends Bills Never Forgets To Send Them-the Phone Bill, The Furniture Bill, The Water Bill, The Gas Bill, Insurance, House Rent.

Let The Rain Kiss You. Let The Rain Beat Upon Your Head With Silver Liquid Drops. Let The Rain Sing You A Lullaby. The Rain Makes Still Pools On The Sidewalk. The Rain Makes Running Pools In The Gutter. The Rain Plays A Little Sellp-song On Our Roof At Night- And I Love The Rain.