Yaller – Cab Calloway And His Orchestra

Dark folk, white folk, but never a hand
They say to this man
“You’re yaller, you’re yaller, you’re yaller, you’re just a yaller”

Black folk, white folk, I’m learning a lot
You know what I am, I know what I’m not

Ain’t even black, I ain’t even white
I ain’t like the day and I ain’t like the night
Feeling mean, so inbetween, I’m just a high yaller

Ain’t even bad, I ain’t even good
I don’t understand and I ain’t understood
Not a friend sticks to the end when you’re yaller

Take me to a church and make me pray
Make me sing a psalm there
You better leave my soul in a crude cafe
I don’t even belong there

Oh Lord, can’t you make a sinner a saint
Why did you start me but run out of paint
Pass me by, a no-‘count yellow man

Lord only knows, I’m trying to rest
I want to be down with a load on my chest
Make my bed; wish I were dead
A yaller man