Am not afraid to talk about it,
And their work is no longer at day,
For righteous people work has no glamour, gain or fame,
For at the end t work at night,
For they say the beam of light is harsh on them,
They lack melanin of course,
But their hey are thrushed by the dreaded monster,
Burden to us they become again,
Today I watched them,
On to the streets they go ,
Slowly they arrange the fruits for sale,
Their lips are red hot ,
Dressed against their culture,
Lemme not continue to describe how they look ,
Boys might go clu clux ,
For they aspire to look like white women ,
Customers come, negotiate ,
They are quiet , they smile , they await the service and the pay,
Alas! No gold comes their way ,
Only metal silvers,
But only time will tell their fate,
For the business is still growing.
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