the ladies on the street in their cracked lawn-chairs
like to call me over for some sweets and touch my "white boy" hair
they tell me to be careful "up in here"
but they don't know that i grew up over there
their chocolate eyes have crinkled edges
and their chapped lies grin too much
they sing to me,
"lawd, boy don' you weep no more,
lawd, boy don' you weep no more,
take cur of dat lil heart of yours,
n' lawd, boy, don' chu weep no more"
