Gil Scott-Heron — Wiggy

[Intro: Gil Scott-Heron] We get, uh, a lot of requests for, for, uh, comments—generally during interviews and etcetera—about, um, uh, aheheh, about what people should wear and what people should do and how people should carry on. Um, we’d like to make one small comment on that. Uh, the name of the poem is “Wiggy.” And, um, we’ll let the title stand for itself. Here’s “Wiggy” [Verse 1: Gil Scott-Heron] Still, Jemima du-head-ragged Her 1920 mind was gagged Undigging how very counterfeit that thing Across her mind did sit Wiggy [Verse 2: Gil Scott-Heron] Gold and blonde, blood-red and blue Sizzled, frizzled, and greasy too Black woman still dig imitation The mother of our horse-hair nation Wiggy [Verse 3: Gil Scott-Heron] Chemicalize your nappy top Comb and brush that store-bought mop Saturday Night, you storm the block Paint resembling electric shock Woman, you are a laughingstock Wiggy [Verse 4: Gil Scott-Heron] Baby, we dig fuzzy heads Cotton-soft, not woolward lead Brillo crowns we all adore As long as we are sure It’s yours