| Here, have a dollar
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| In fact, no brotherman — here, have two
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| Two dollars means a snack for me
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| But it means a big deal to you
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| Be strong, serve God only
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| Know that if you do, beautiful heaven awaits
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| That’s the poem I wrote for the first time
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| I saw a man with no clothes, no money, no plate
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| Mr. Wendal, that’s his name
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| No one ever knew his name cause he’s a no-one
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| Never thought twice about spending on a ol' bum
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| Until I had the chance to really get to know one
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| Now that I know him, to give him money isn’t charity
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| He gives me some knowledge, I buy him some shoes
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| And to think blacks spend all that money on big colleges
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| Still most of y’all come out confused
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| Go ahead, Mr. Wendal
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| Go ahead, Mr. Wendal
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| Mr. Wendal has freedom
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| A free that you and I think is dumb
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| Free to be without the worries of a quick to diss society
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| For Mr. Wendal’s a bum
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| His only worries are sickness
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| And an occasional harassment by the police and their chase
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| Uncivilized we call him
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| But I just saw him eat off the food we waste
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| Civilization, are we really civilized, yes or no
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| Who are we to judge
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| When thousands of innocent men could be brutally enslaved
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| And killed over a racist grudge
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| Mr. Wendal has tried to warn us about our ways
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| But we don’t hear him talk
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| Is it his fault when we’ve gone too far
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| And we got too far, cause on him we walk
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| Mr. Wendal, a man, a human in flesh
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| But not by law
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| I feed you dignity to stand with pride
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| Realize that all in all you stand tall
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| Mr. Wendal
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| Lord, Mr. Wendal |