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47 Swamp Song The boys stare at the pandies like they staring at red candies want to touch it, lick it, caress it, take it, own it; never look at us that way, never got sweet words to say to simple colored girls like us who don’t jitterbug, don’t ride no horse; just work till our fingers are white, stumbling homeward, weary at night. We all have dreams, I suppose. Me, I want me some shoes, nice clothes, a little learning, some sweet love and a promise of glory up above. Let them dream of their pandies pale skinned, store-bought candies, let them taste the intoxication of their livid imaginations, and when they grow weary straining for that pandy mystery they’ll come home to the warm and damp of this sweet soft Carolina swamp. ...

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