Here, have a dollar, nin fact no brotherman here, have twonTwo dollars means a snack for me, nbut it means a big deal to younBe strong, serve God only, nknow that if you do, beautiful heaven awaitsnThat's the poem I wrote for the first time nI saw a man with no clothes, no money, no platenMr. Wendal, that's his name,nno one ever knew his name cause he's a no one nNever thought twice about spending on a ol' bum,nuntil I had the chance to really get to know onenNow that I know him, to give him money isn't charitynHe gives me some knowledge, I buy him some shoesnAnd to think blacks spend all that money on big colleges,nstill most of y'all come out confusednnGo ahead, Mr.WendalnnMr. Wendal has freedom,na free that you and I think is dumbnFree to be without the worries of a quick to diss societynfor Mr. Wendal's a bumnHis only worries are sicknessnand an occasional harassment by the police and their chasenUncivilized we call him,nbut I just saw him eat off the food we wastenCivilization, are we really civilized, yes or no ?nWho are we to judge ?nWhen thousands of innocent men could be brutally enslavednand killed over a racist grudgenMr. Wendal has tried to warn us about our waysnbut we don't hear him talknIs it his fault when we've gone too far, nand we got too far, cause on him we walknMr. Wendal, a man, a human in flesh,nbut not by lawnI feed you dignity to stand with pride,nrealize that all in all you stand tallnnGo ahead, Mr. WendalnnMr. Wendal, Lord, Mr. Wendal