those was good days.
sneakin' out the bedroom window
tryin' harder not to wrinkle our frocks
than not to wake momma
runnin' down the dusty road
with pointy-toe pumps in tote
hopin' we didn't miss too much
of the party.
greeted at the end of the road
by three cats
in they daddy's shiny black Bonneville
waitin' to give us a ride.
they'd be justa skinnin' and grinnin'
thinkin' they might just get some ass
before the night was through.
if them cats was slick enough,
we'd Slide all night at the juke joint.
eatin' pickled pigfeet and
gettin' high off of stump-hole liquor.
tellin' lies 'bout how
we was gonna go to New York one day
and how we was gonna go to Coney Island
for hotdogs at Nathan's.
and then go over to Queens
to find us a soul food joint
for a taste of collards and cornbread.
we would just follow the crowd to Harlem
and take us a place in line
waitin' our turn to
bow at the feet of Apollo,
god of the Chitlin Circuit.
he would entertain us with
his dukes and his queens, and his godfathers
that palace would be smokin'!
all eyes would be on us-
the socialites from the sticks-
all dolled up in our fitted skirts
with can-can slips underneath
and the cats in they pencil suits and wing-tips
and all us thinkin'
if only the niggas back home could see us now-
snappin' and tappin' in Harlem
with dukes, and queens, and godfathers.