笨小笨Black History歌词由Anthony Joseph演唱，出自专辑《Black History》，下面是《Black History》完整版歌词！
Black History歌词完整版
One turntable was all DJ Champ had
The fade was to wait
Two big speaker box for the boom
Two tweeters
Hung like bees on wire above the front door
Sacred hearted Jesus
Mister Clarence dancing to Lord Nelson's 'Night Train' — the only glimpse we ever stole of him
In this motion
With his head up and easy
Holding out his glass of Whiteways of Whimple
To the side, so it don't spill when he slide
And spin on his heel
And there were full women in the kitchen
Smoking filterless Broadways and drinking Scotch straight
Tanty Ursula was young then, among them
Strong and long before her stroke
She had plenty verve
Ursula would stand unsolicited
And sing out with her tremulous voice
Sing, 'My Way' or 'Misty'
Wavering between keys but upwards she drove
Into the wild arc
Of her highest note
Black History
Black History
Black History
Black History
Now, her aunt Zeen had been in Boston since 1972
And Zeen's blood was close to her skin
She would throw her head back an' laugh
Blow smoke and cuss hard, she could break
A young man's carapace
She could drink hard rum and linger long
After grog had beat up the competition
She drank men silly
Till they floated up and sighed
Zeen would fry chicken by the bucket
She would curry a cast of river crabs
Soup up some bull foot soup
Fridays on Dorchester Avenue
Sons would bring their wives
From New England
Yankee life. Varsity sweaters
Plastic shoes and cheap perfume
Black History
Zeen in Boston working as a nurse
At night she working for the sanitation department
But when she threw a party, she would hire a DJ
An' when music leggo — bram
She would pull people up to dance
Black History
Black History
Black History
Black History
Writing on the same letter Nita sent
And that wranglement didn't ease
Until age and diabetes start to creep
Into their lives
Black History
Black History
Now, their mother
Ma, Nobelta Lezama
My great grand mother
She lived to be at 102
After outliving two husbands
After giving birth to eight children
And walking eight miles from hillside to town
To sell mangoes in Central Market
She could slap harsh cards down
In late night gambling games
She drank her coffee black and strong
Ma Nobelta's mother
Was Ma Marie, born of Black Africa — historical mystery
That must have been sometime in the 1860s
This was near after slavery
And the village gave her their secrets
For safekeeping, to be unravelled through generations
And generations, and generations
Of Black history
And do this all
Without Western belief in the afterlife
But from the root set in sweet mud
Ma Nobelta's mother
Was Ma Marie, born of Black Africa — historical mystery
That must have been sometime in the 1860s
This was near after slavery
And the village gave her their secrets
For safekeeping, to be unravelled through generations
Of Black history
