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by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers
There's fairness in changing blood for septet's guardian1 rhythm, the horn blossoming into cadenza. No good pimp's scowl2, his baby's voice ruined sweet for the duration. Yes, these predictable fifths. O, the blues3 is all about slinging4 those low tales out the back door (sing: child pried5 open on that stained floor)。 O, Billie hollers way down dirt roads (sing: woman on the verge6 of needled logic7)。 She's aware——yeah, I'm going to kiss some man's sugared fist tonight. O, this tableau's muse8, a Lady cautioning me: Just tough this thing out, girl. Sweat through the jones. Don't ask for nothing. Spit your last damned note 点击收听单词发音
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