Celine Dion canta Édith Piaf per omaggiare le vittime di Parigi
A 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." A Black folk, white folk, I'm learning a lot, You know what I am, I know what I'm not, B 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. B 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. C 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. B 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. B 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.