Visitors to the Black Belt lyrics
by Zora Neale Hurston
You can talk about
Across the railroad tracks--
To me it's here
On this side of the tracks.
You can talk about
Up in Harlem--
To me it's here
In Harlem.
You can say
Jazz on the South Side--
To me it's hell
On the South Side:
Kitchenettes
With no heat
And garbage
In the halls.
Who're you, outsider?
Ask me who am I.