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here have a dollarin fact now brotherman here have twotwo dollars means a snack for mebut it means a big deal to yoube strong serve god onlyknow that if you do beautiful heaven awaitsthat's the poem i wrote for the first timei saw a man with no cloths, no money, no platemr. wendal, that's his nameno one ever knew his name cuz he's a know onenever thought twice about spending on an old bumuntil i had the chance to really get to know onenow that i know 'em to give him money isn't charityhe gives me some knowledge, i buy him some shoesand to think blacks spend all their money on big collegesstill most of you come out confusedgo ahead mr. wendalgo ahead mr. wendalmr. wendal has freedoma free that you and i think he's dumbfree to be without the worries of a quick to diss societyfor mr. wendal's a bumhis only worries are sickness and occasional harassmentby the police and their chaseuncivilized we call him but i just saw himeat off the food we wastecivilization, are we really civilizedyes or no, who are we to judgewhen thousands of innocent mancould be brutally enslaved and killed over a racist grudgemr. wendal has tried to warn us about our waysbut we don't hear him talkit's not his fault when we're goin' too far and we got too farcuz on him we walkmr. wendal, a man, a human in flesh, but not by lawi feed you dignity to stand with priderealize now that all in all we stand tallgo ahead mr. wendalmr. wendal, lord, mr. wendal
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