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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Frances Twas the night before Thanksgiving An’ all through the tenement Mama was sleeping When Big Dady came in again And there in the night sweet Frances lost her innocence Hopscotch in Harlem Summer 1944 "If I don’t win this time I aint never going to play no more.” Mr Fortune teller Why didn’t you tell her One day she’d be a WHORE The girl tol’ her Mama she’d never be poor Papa was around But he scorned her Mama was always down But she tried to warn her Papa blamed her mother Said she was just too lenient The child tried her hand at working But selling love Was much more convenient Cleaning toilets pays ten cents an hour Scrubbing floors pays a quarter My guess is that Cinderella Wasn’t written for her Now she’s her own selfs employer And Now she cleans billfolds At least it keeps her out of the cold Dropping her dress didn’t take her to the top She told her Mother one day she’s gonna stop And now and then she reflects How she misses that Harlem Hop. ROSS And Misses Gypsy lady You been passin’ out bad luck lately He wanted to be an astronaut But now trouble holds him And it’s your fault Cause you should have told him Attorney trying to get him twenty-five The judge wants to give him eighty Aint a tree in sight But it still seems shady But whatever happens He’ll always be Sadie’s baby Looking back with sad refrain Ross, why you wanna bring your Mama pain? A number replaced his name Bought a gun to make a score Couldn’t stand another day of being poor So he chose to rob the corner store Headline said: Murder at Sunny’s He wouldn’t have killed hm If he had jus’ given him the money Fifty years of time to spare A simple dream that led no where When they passed out Blues He got twice his share And now he’s livin’ in shame But what he wouldn’t give For one more game Of that Harlem square. “Ross, you better stop pullin my hair.”
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