Oh! Sing to me of those Quadroon Balls down in New Orleans!
Sing to me of praline, cinnamon, and cafe-au-lait girls
auctioned off to the highest peaches and cream or ivory bidder
as mistresses blessedly chosen for those
inherent hypersexual qualities of theirs
lying in th' summer shades of their skin
cuz there ain't no other work y'all 'll let 'em git.
Remind me again of girls forced by their fathers-
and mothers as well, lest we forget-
into revealing outfits and makeup since
they wouldn't really be a woman without it;
whistle a tune back to recall
the number of bosses hiring women for underpaid labor
with an eye up and down their body
followed by the simple request-cum-command:
"You look like you could fit in here, love,
but next time try to wear something a little more......
functional, for God's sake, if you know what I mean."
Forcing us into skinny jeans
with economic sanctions,
refusing to even give a second glance
to the modestly dressed-
and what can you say against this,
when you so desperately need the money
to support yourself or your family?
Cuz you're also raised to believe
that you have no voice to speak up
against such things
(coming as they first did
cloaked in mummy and daddy's teachings).
you need to make it,
all on your own,
you need to make it
else you're less of a human being-
deserving of pity
(not support or a community)
in this individualistic society.
So don't say nuthin' bout color,
gender, or sexual harassment when complainin'
else it's back to the job applications
for all your ungrateful trouble-raisin'.
After all, you're a woman-
you're meant to be a sex object from day one,
so git it straight, you need to be grateful
we even let you have a job.
And as for personal worth and inner value,
don't make me repeat what so many others've told y':
but you're a woman, so maybe you can't remember-
your all lies in the tightness of your pussy's walls
and how well you can use it to amuse us men.
(And we're taught it's our fault when they rape us
because of our inherent hypersexual behaviors
lying in the shades of our skins,
the sweeps of our eyelids,
and those skimpy dresses they pushed on top of us;
all these liberals heartfelt yelling away,
"Don't judge her for what she's wearing!"
yet meantime the big picture's evaded:
that maybe most women don't enjoy dressing thus-
it makes them feel cheap and self-conscious-
but they've been pushed into it
by a variety of different sources
and so they come to accept this
as one more of the sex's obligations.)
So go'on, I love to hear this refrain:
Go'on an' tell me agin
how we all have the same opportunities
as you peaches an' cream or ivory men.