The broad with the yellow dress
You see the apple how it fits
Her pocket at night
And she takes it out and pierces
With her teeth
Does she even care of how
Men toil for that good fruit
But she eats it like a slave
And she is a slave
For in certain days
Her master says
Not wear colors so gay
She is a woman of no self
Control it is good
She is slaved it is good
Her matser beats her
It is good for her to cry
To hear her cry
Is to cause men of toil to
Become afraid
What authority her master has
If He can beat His slave
How much less are we
How much more
It is not the broad He
Loves she is just a slave
Some day He will put her away
And kill her
For His sons and daughters
Are waiting for
A certain light
That cannot be replaced
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem