THE PEN 13 They, too, mut be scoured and scrubbed. Day in and day out and three time at that Every time there’s eating There must also be washing! No siree! I don’t want to get fat. A “weenie” each meal on a Frankfurter roll That is all I care for and no more. Maybe I ’11 also have something to drink, But you still wouldn’t get me over a sink My cup will be made of paper. I can throw it way when I’m through And I don’t have to clean, it for later Crash, splash, clink, clatter! This is the song of the dishes If I ever lay my hands on the guy Who invented the spoon, the fork and the knife I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life Imagine! Those things must be washed, too— Crash, splash, clink, clatter! Imagine! Those things must be washed too. Do you think it will end Washing dishes, my friend? I ’11 get tired of “weenies” you know. Some tender fried chicken And a legume or two With a dash of delicious gravy. Oh! The mere thought of it makes my mouth water. Can I have a bit And then have a fit With the dirty dishes after. Charles N. Atkins LIBERTE! EGELITE! FRATERNITE! Arise, my fellow Negroes It’s time to raise your ebon hand To warn your many foes That you will not ere lmg withstand And bow in mild subjection To this wretched life of pain and shame And merciless oppression. Life, liberty, and happiness

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