|
A |
|
Dark folk, white folk, but never a hand, |
|
They say to this man, |
|
"You're yaller, you're yaller, you're yaller, you're just a yaller." |
|
A |
|
Black folk, white folk, I'm learning a lot, |
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You know what I am, I know what I'm not, |
|
B |
|
Ain't even black, I ain't even white, |
|
I ain't like the day and I ain't like the night. |
|
Feeling mean, so inbetween, I'm just a high yaller. |
|
B |
|
Ain't even bad, I ain't even good, |
|
I don't understand and I ain't understood, |
|
Not a friend sticks to the end when you're yaller. |
|
C |
|
Take me to a church and make me pray, |
|
Make me sing a psalm there; |
|
You better leave my soul in a crude cafe, |
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I don't even belong there. |
|
B |
|
Oh Lord, can't you make a sinner a saint, |
|
Why did you start me but run out of paint, |
|
Pass me by, a no-'count yellow man. |
|
B |
|
Lord only knows, I'm trying to rest, |
|
I want to be down with a load on my chest. |
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Make my bed; wish I were dead, |
|
A yaller man. |
