We like to think of the “drug epidemic” is something that emerged in 1970s and 1980s. We like to think there aren’t deep and complex cultural roots to the relationship between drugs and violence and disadvantaged social classes, and that those roots antedate the “War on Drugs” by many decades.
I wonder to what extent the “War on Drugs” wasn’t a kind of “redirection” of repressive energies vis-a-vis the civil rights movement. The former ramped up alongside the latter, and served as a kind of coded means to continue social control while paying lip service to the ideals of equality.
What I’m listening to right now.
Luke Jordan, “Cocaine Blues.” 1927. Really – this recording is older than my dad’s car.
Lyrics.
Now, go on, gal, don’t you take me for no fool
I’m not gonna quit you, pretty mama, whilst the weather’s cool
Around your back door, says, honey, I’m gonna creep
As long’s you make me those two and a half a week
Now I’ve got a girl, she works in the white folks yard
She brings me meal, I can swear, she brings me lard
She brings me meal, she brings me lard
She brings me everything, I swear, that she can steal
Now, Barnum Bailey’s Circus came to town
They had the dancers looking good and brown
They didn’t know it was against the law
For the monk’ to stop at a fine drug store
Just around the corner just a minute too late
Another one standin’ at the big back gate
I’m simply wild about my good cocaine
I call my Cora, hey, hey
She come on sniffin’ with her nose all sore
The doctor swore ain’t gonna sell no more
Sayin’, run, doctor, ring the bell
The women in the alley
Am simply wild about my good cocaine
Now, the furniture man came to my house
It was last Sunday morn
He asked me was my wife at home
And I told she had long gone
He backed his wagon up to my door
Took everything I had
He carried it back to the furniture store
And I swear I did feel sad
What in the world has anyone got
Dealin’ with the furniture man?
If you got no dough
To stand up for show
He certainly will back you back
He will take everything from an ugly plant
From a skillet to a frying pan
If it ever was a devil born without any horns
It must have been the furniture man
I call my Cora, hey, hey
She come on sniffin’ with her nose all sore
Doctor swore ain’t gonna sell her more
Sayin’ coke for horses, not women or men
The doctor says it’ll kill you but he didn’t say when
I’m simply wild about my good cocaine
Now, the babies in the cradle in New Orleans
They kept a-whiffin’ ’til they got so mean
They kept a-whiffin’ had to fix it so
The judge wouldn’t ‘low to sell no more
Sayin’, run, doctor, ring the bell
The women in the alley
Am simply wild about my good cocaine
I call my Cora, hey, hey
She come on sniffin’ with her nose all sore
The doctor swore, “I ain’t gonna sell her more.”
Sayin’ run, doctor, ring the bell
The women in the alley
Am simply wild about my good cocaine
Another song.
Luke Jordan, “Pick Poor Robin Clean.” 1927.
Lyrics.
REFRAIN: You better pick poor robin clean, pick poor robin clean
I picked his head, I picked his feet, I picked his body but it wasn’t fit to eat
You better pick poor robin clean, poor robin clean
So I’ll be satisfied, havin’ your family
Get off my money and don’t get funny
‘Cause I’m a nigger, don’t cut no figure
Gamblin’ for Sadie, she is my lady
I’m a hustling coon, that’s just what I am
REFRAIN: You better pick poor robin clean, poor robin clean
I picked his head, I picked his feet, would-a picked his body but it wasn’t fit to eat
You better pick poor robin clean, pick poor robin clean
Says, I’ll be satisfied, havin’ your family
Oh, didn’t that jaybird laugh when he picked poor robin clean?
Picked poor robin clean, poor robin clean
Oh, didn’t that jaybird laugh when he picked poor robin clean?
Says I’ll be satisfied, havin’ the family
REFRAIN: You better pick poor robin clean, poor robin clean
I picked his head, I picked his feet, would-a picked his body but it wasn’t fit to eat
You better pick poor robin clean, pick poor robin clean
Says, I’ll be satisfied, havin’ your family
Now if you have that gal o’ mine, I’m gonna have your ma
Your sister, too, your auntie, three
If your great-grandmammy do the shivaree I’m gonna have her, four
I be satisfied, havin’ the family
REFRAIN: You better pick poor robin clean, pick poor robin clean
I picked his head, I picked his feet, I would-a picked his body but it wasn’t fit to eat
You better pick poor robin clean, poor robin clean
Says, I’ll be satisfied, havin’ your family
[daily log: walking, 6 km]