The white children applaud and laugh 

When they catch you singing those songs of yours,

And they themselves recite some of the Spiritual verses

From when they found and heard you singing them before.

But their parents dislike how you all learned the songs

Of the Church, and then had to blacken them up,

So the music stops whenever they’re nearby in the big house,

And making their meals on an empty stomach 

Somehow feels even worse without the music of God or songs of hard luck. 

And after breakfast, when your apron and head rag

Have been disheveled by batter and sweat,

And your hunger and senses have been tempted to partake,

But you must always wait, they order you still for more; 

They tell you that you may eat after you dust off the parlor mirrors,

Knowing that in your present attire after a morning of household chores,

That the parlor mirrors are at their cruelest with their stares.