He Was My Cream, And I Was

A Violinist Had A Violin, A Painter His Palette. All I Had Was Myself. I Was The Instrument That I Must Care For.

I Have Walked Into The Palaces Of Kings And Queens And Into The Houses Of Presidents. And Much More. But I Could Not Walk Into A Hotel In America And Get A Cup Of Coffee, And That Made Me Mad.

I Spent 30 Minutes Each Morning Rubbing My Body With Half A Lemon To Lighten My Skin.

The Hate Directed Against The Colored People Here In St. Louis Has Always Given Me A Sad Feeling... How Can You Expect The World To Believe In You And Respect Your Preaching Of Democracy When You Yourself Treat Your Colored Brothers As You Do?

The White Imagination Is Sure Something When It Comes To Blacks.