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/ Oh Father, my Father, Oh what must I do? They're burning our streets and beating me blue. "Listen  \
| my son, I'll tell you the truth: Get a close haircut and spit-shine your shoes."                   |
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| Oh Mother, my Mother, my confusions remove, I long to embrace her whose hair is so smooth. "Now    |
| listen my son, although you're confused, Cut your hair close and shine all your shoes."            |
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| Oh Teacher, my Teacher, your life with me share. What books ought I read? What thoughts do I dare? |
| "Oh Student, my Student, of dissent you beware. Shine those dull shoes and cut short your hair."   |
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| Oh Preacher, my Preacher, does God really care? Are all races equal? Are laws just and fair? "Boy  |
\ -- here's the answer, no need to despair: Shine those new shoes and cut short that hair."          /
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