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There’s an old blues, Duncan and Brady, that has the lines, “Women all hear King Brady’s dead/They all go home and re-rag in red/Come a-slippin’ and a-sliding down the street in their big Mother Hubbards and their stockin’ feet.” I always thought that spoke to the profession of the ladies in question, but the color of mourning in Africa is often red, and that red preference slipped into New Orleans. So a quite proper funeral might probably call for red.
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