Perhaps I Am Just A

It Must Be Recess In (heaven) If St. Peter Is Lettin His Angels Out.

Tain't No Use In You Cryin' . . . But Folks Is Meant To Cry 'bout Somethin' Or Other. Better Leave Things De Way Dey Is. Youse Young Yet. No Tellin' Whut Mout Happen Befo' You Die.

I Do Not Weep At The World I Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

I Am Not Tragically Colored. There Is No Great Sorrow Dammed Up In My Soul, Nor Lurking Behind My Eyes. I Do Not Mind At All. I Do Not Belong To The Sobbing School Of Negrohood Who Hold That Nature Somehow Has Given Them A Lowdown Dirty Deal And Whose Feelings Are All Hurt About It. Even In The Helter-skelter Skirmish That Is My Life, I Have Seen That The World Is To The Strong Regardless Of A Little Pigmentation More Or Less. No, I Do Not Weep At The World—i Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

Now They Got To Look Into Me Loving Tea Cake And See Whether It Was Done Right Or Not! They Don't Know If Life Is A Mess Of Corn-meal Dumplings, And If Love Is A Bed-quilt!