THE WOOD-SAWYER.“Oh, I work hard, sho,When de col’ win’ blow,Sawin’ en splittin’ de white folks’ wood!But I do’n’ complainOb de col’ en de rain,Kaze de Lawd gwine sen’ what He know am good.”
THE WOOD-SAWYER.
“Oh, I work hard, sho,When de col’ win’ blow,Sawin’ en splittin’ de white folks’ wood!But I do’n’ complainOb de col’ en de rain,Kaze de Lawd gwine sen’ what He know am good.”
Eb’ry man what see a tex’In de trees en stones,Ain’t bin called ter preach en raiseLife in dead, dry bones.Dat ole rooster scratchin’ darAm a sarmont, sho,But des kaze I read him right,I ain’t called, you know.If you don’t read it, you ain’tGot de seein’ eyes,En yo’ heart cain’t see dem thingsWhat would make you wise.Sho’s de Bible done say datDem what works kin eat,Dat’s a noble sarmont dar—One dat cain’t be beat.When dat rooster scratch fo’ wormsIn de lowly groun’,He’s a sayin’ we mus’ workFo’ our bread, I’m boun’;En when he fin’ food, en callTill dat hen do run,He sho mean dat man mus’ workFo’ de weakly one.He don’t shet his knowledge upIn a selfish min’;When he see de mornin’ breakHe tell all mankin’.Do ter me all dis en mo’,Dat same rooster teach,He don’t say dat I’s conspiredBy de Lawd ter preach.
My ole shanty am a fallin’,En de rain am leakin’ frue,En de rheumatiz done grip meTill I don’t know what ter do;But I thank God fo’ dis frame,En I happy, des de same.I cain’t go en jine de singin’,Lak I did in ole-time days,At de Calvary Baptis’ Church,Whar dey sing glad songs ob praise;But my heart ain’t sick en lame,En it singin’, des de same.Mandy say de safe am empty—We ain’t got no food ter-day!Say she do’ know whar we git it,’Thout an angel come dis way;But I trus’ in Jesus’ name,En my soul feas’, des de same.
If de rooster crow, dey say,’Fo’e de clock strike ten,Atter he done gone ter roos’In de chicken pen,Den de weather sho gwine change’Fo’e dat time nex’ day,En I don’t care if it do—So de sunshine stay.How de rooster know if win’Am gwine res’ or blow,Or if clouds gwine hol’ de rain,Or gwine let it po’,I cain’t tell, do I live heahForty yeahs terday;But I know my heart am gladIf de sunshine stay.
“Ole Daddy Long Legs,Why am you so tall?You look lak yo’ headGwine soon touch de wall;En it take many stitchesTer sew up dem breeches.”Ole Daddy Long LegsMake answer ter me:“De fines’ fruit growIn de top ob de tree,En I’s made tall ez disSo’s de bes’ I won’t miss.”
Oh, I had a happy time—Happy time las’ night!Staid inside dat meetin’ houseTill it mos’ daylight.En I sho did sing en hollerTill de people knowDat dis nigger got religion—Couldn’t hol’ no mo’.When I leave dat meetin’ house—Leave at ha’f pas’ two,I wuz gittin’ hungry ezShoutin’ niggers do;En des den I heah a roosterGib a mighty crow;“Don’t he think he big?” I say,“I gwine fetch him low!”Oh, I fetch him low! En ITote him home wid me,En wid dumplin’s I done cook himQuick ez dat kin be.Wid religion en dat chickenI am full up, sho,But I reckon when night comeI kin hol’ some mo’!
Ebry day dat come, I passWhar de watermilyun growIn de Massa’s milyun patch,En dey is a sight, fo’ sho.Dey des peeps frum out de leaves,Playin’ hide en seek wid me;En dey beg me come en ta’se ’em,Des ter see how good dey be;But I sho does pass ’em by—Same’s I don’t know whar dey lie.I’s a member ob de church,En you’ll neber see me steal;I kin sho han’ out de cashFo’ my bacon en corn-meal.Dey will keep me des ez fatEz I eber want ter be,En de luxuries ob life—Heah dem milyuns callin’ me!Don’t dey know dat I done sayI ain’t gwine take dem away?One ob dem—he sho am big—Prettiest thing I eber seen—All arrayed, mo’ bright dan lilies,In dem shades ob shinnin’ green.He done creep frum out dem leavesTill he close ter dis low fence,En he beckon me ter take him—Think dat I ain’t got good sense!But dat coat ob him do shine,En I wish dat he wus mine.Wonder if he look ez niceOn de inside ez de out?Wonder if he’s lak dem ChristiansWhat do nothin’ else but shout?Guess dat I could mighty soonBu’s’ him on a rock, en see,If I had him on dis sideOb de ole rail-fence wid me.Dat I’ll do! If he’s deceivin’,Nothin’ else ain’t wuth believin’!He am mellow ter de co’;Sho de heart ob him am right;Since I gone en bu’s’ him open,I mus’ git him out ob sight.I would sin agin my conshunsIf I let him go ter was’eWhen so many mouths is thirstin’Fo’ de juice dey loves ter tas’e;—Juice dat cheers de nigger’s soulMo’ dan all dat’s bought wid gol’.It wus good, dat watermilyun,But I sho am gittin’ sick;Go en git de doctor, honey—Go en git him mighty quick!’Twus a dirty trick, fo’ cartin,What de Massa gone en done,Puttin’ strychnine in dat milyunSo’s ter ketch de guilty one;—But I ain’t a rogue, he know—I’s a Christian, dat am sho!
I wus fetch up fur awayFrum dis city whar I stay,In de lan’ ob shinin’ dayWhar de watermilyun grow.Oh, my boss heah treat me gran’!But I sad, you understan’,Longing fo’ de Dixie lan’Whar de watermilyun grow.Fiel’s ob cotton beckon me,En de sweet magnolia tree,En my heart des cry ter beWhar de watermilyun grow.Oh, de South am des de placeFo’ de thirsty cullud race!En I long ter turn my faceWhar de watermilyun grow.If dey try to ’tice you ’way,Don’t you lis’n what dey say,Kaze de nigger bo’n ter stayWhar de watermilyun grow.
What dat you say? Sen’ Zeke ter schoolDes kaze he ain’t bin bo’n a fool?Now you talkin’! You ain’t heerd’Bout George Washington T. Beard?He wus smart, his ma tell me,En he l’arn his A, B, C,’Thout no’ difficult at all—Nat’ral ez de ripe fruit fall.En dat smartness grow on himFas’ ez leaves grow on de lim’,Till at las’ de people say:“He mus’ sholy go awayTer de college in de town!”’Twus a great one, I am boun’,Whar dey teach dat young man mo’Dan de mos’ ob niggers know.When he reach ter gradiation,My! Dey make a great ’miration;En dey say: “Spite ob his race,En dat shinin’, coal-black face,He gwine make de people’s eyesOpen wide wid dey surprise;Dat wus sho a good essay,What he read fo’ us ter-day.”En dey say dem people chee’edDat George Washington T. Beard;Say he look en ac’ ez gran’Ez de fines’ in de lan;Bowin’ dis en den dat wayWid a smile dat seem ter say:“I is ready now ter doSomethin’ dat will ’stonish you.”Den what nex’? He des come home—Wait dar fo’ de chance ter comeTer git some big job, fo’ true,Lak falutin’ white folks do;—Think he am too smart, you know,Ter use axe or spade or hoe;Or ter do work, han’ ter han’,Wid de ignorant cullud man.Dar he set en dar he wait,Railin’ ’gin de nigger’s fate,Sayin’ dat de worl’ am hard,When we all know dat de LawdMake it easier, fo’ sho’,When de man use what he know;When he don’t des set en wait,Railin’ allers ’gin his fate.Ez you say, dat Zeke ob mineGot a min’ dat sho could shine,En dem han’s ob his kin doMos’ ez much ez mine, fo’ true.He won’t neber lack fo’ breadWid dem han’s en wid dat head;En I don’t sen’ him ter schoolWhar he l’arn ter be a fool.
People tell de news las’ weekDat a cullud man gwine speakAt de college hall;Say he try ter lif’ his raceTer a high en shinin’ placeOn dis ’restial ball.En dey say dat cullud manDoin’ work dat sho am gran’In dis worl’ below;Say he gib his life, fo’ true,So de nigger be en doBetter dan befo’.He done ’stablish a fine school,Whar, dey say, he ’force dis rule:Train de man all roun’;Let de han’s dey duty know;Let de min’ wake up en grow;Let de heart be soun’.Dat great school am situateDown in Alabamy state,In dis Dixie lan’;En folks north en eas’ en wes’,When dey heah it do its bes’,Len’ a he’pin’ han’.Mr. Washington come downLas’ week ter dis very town,Ez I spec’ you know;En when I went ter dat hallDes ter heah him speak, en all,I wus ’sprised, fo’ sho;’Sprised ter see dat cullud manOn de platform, dress up gran’,Wid de bes’ white men;En if he don’t speak dat dayWords ez good ez dey kin say—Den my name ain’t Ben!Oh, I wish dat I could tellWhat he say! It make me swellAll up fat wid pride;En I say: “I sho gwine shakeHis right han’ fo’ dem words’ sake,When we git outside.”When he finish en set down,I go outside en walk roun’Till his face I see;Den I say, sho ez I bo’n:“Howdy, Mr. Washington!Won’t you speak ter me?”En he shake my han’ de wayDat men do when dey hearts say:“Glad ter see yo’ face!”En I tell him; “’Fo’e you goI mus’ say, you make me, sho,Proud ob de black race.”
Crazy Joe, he make me laughWhen he talk dat way’Bout de mansion on de hillWhar de gov’nor stay;When he vow dat heSho ez life gwine beWalkin’ on dem flo’s some day.He ain’t wise on politics,En we tell him so,En we say: “Nobody voteFo’ you, Crazy Joe!”But he say dat heSometime sho gwine beWalkin’ on dat mansion flo’.His vote he’p de white man gitTer dat place, he say,En he waitin’ fo’ de stateTer do right, en payHim wid dis job soon:Washin’ de spittoonWhat dey use dar ebry day!
Neber seen a feller grinLak dat nigger do;When you as’ him anythingHe des look at you;—Neber answer what you say—Grin en grin dat stupid way.When somebody what don’t knowAs’ him what he name,He hang down dat head ob hisEz do’ he ashame;En he show dem teeth ob whiteLak dey speak fo’ him all right.“Is de cat done got yo’ tongue?”Mammy as’ him once,“Or is you des bo’n to beA dum’, stupid dunce?”But he hang dat head en grin,Silly ez he allers bin.I mos’ b’lieve dat when he gitUp ter heaven’s gate,If de angels as’ him whyHe stan’ dar en wait,He won’t say: “Please let me in,”But des grin en grin en grin!
Grinnin’ Jake.
Grinnin’ Jake.
When de vaccinater come,My Elmiry run frum homeFas’ ez she could go;Run away ter Missus’ house,Whar she slip in lak a mouse,So de Miss won’t know.En she scramble hin’ de headOb de Missus’ high pos’ bed,Des ter hide erwhile;En de Missus come en goFrue dat room, but she don’t know’Bout dat silly chile.By en by, when she come frue,She heah somethin’ breave, she do,Lak somebody ’sleep;En her heart stan’ still dat day,En she am too sca’ed, she say,Des to take a peep.So she run out-do’s en call;“Sen’ de pleeceman (heah me all!)Right now ter my house;Dar’s a robber ’hin’ my bed,Waitin’ till de day be dead,Quiet ez a mouse.”En de news dem people spread’Bout de robber ’hin’ de bed,Waitin’ till day done;En de pleeceman sho did race,So he reach dat hidin’ place,’Fo’e de robber run.But when he git dar en seeDat chile sleepin’ quiet, heDes frow back his head,En he laugh en laugh en say:“Come in, Missus, right away!Who dis ’hin’ yo’ bed?”Dey take hol’ ob her en shakeDat Elmiry till she wake’Nough ter rub her eyes;When she open dem en seeWho dat man am—goodness me!—She am sho surprise’.“Please, Mister Pleeceman,” den she say,“I’ll be vaccernate’ dis dayIf you let me go!”But he say dat des a tale,En he take her ter de jail’Fo’e her mammy know.Take her ter be vaccernate,En she grunt now, soon en late,Wid dat arm dat’s so’.’Tain’t no use ter run frum homeWhen de vaccernater come;—He gwine git you, sho.
Des cartin ez dey is a wayTer miss doin what am right,Dat boy gwine allers fin’ it outWhat work fo’ Mistah White.Las’ yeah dey had him drive ’em allOut ter de ole school groun’,Whar all de white folks congregateFrum miles en miles er-roun’.En Mistah White, when dey git dar,Say: “Simon, now you min’,En put dis ice we got heah, inDe cooles’ place you fin’.”En when dey all go in ter heahDe chillun speak en sing,Dat boy—he go en drap dat iceRight in de bubblin’ spring!
Dat Tom, he allers want ter knowAll ’bout de things he see;I neber could remember ha’fOb what he done as’ me.He see dem posts down by de road,Wid wires stretch ercrost,En ast me why dem wires wusHung dar from post ter post.I tell him den, de bes’ I kin,Dat dey wus made to sen’De news ercrost, so men kin heahFrum dey fur absent frien’.He stan’ en gaze en gaze on demIn his onquirin’ way;Den: “How de news git roun dem posts?”Dat stupid nigger say.He sho ain’t got de sense ter know(De good fo’ nothin’ scamp!)Dat des ter meet dat obstickleWe got de postage stamp.
“How de News git roun’ dem posts?”
“How de News git roun’ dem posts?”
Sime say he don’t know what ter do wid dat muleDat he done gone en bought (he wus sholy a fool!)At de sale in de town;He say it so stubborn dat when he say “gee,”It allers gwine “haw,” ez sho ez kin be,En I’s glad, I am boun’.He say when he want it ter stan’ it gwine walk;—When he want it ter go, it am sholy gwine balk,Lak a dunce all de time.He say dey ain’t neber bin bo’n sich a fool,But I know, I sho do, dat pesky ole muleAin’t ez stubborn ez Sime.He neber gwine do what I tell him am right,Do he know I wus bo’n wid a caul on my sight,En kin see what am bes’;I tol’ him ter stay frum dat sale in de town,But somethin’ des draw him ez blood do de houn’,Till he foller de res’.I sho knew dat day what dat man wus erboutWhen I seen him a-takin’ de las’ money outOb de cup on de she’f;En I glad he done spent ebry cent on dat mule,En’s got ter work now wid dat pesky ole fool,Kaze he’s stubborn hisse’f.
Who am sca’ed ob small-pox? Pshaw!Not dis nigger, sho.Las’ yeah dar wus lots ob itDown in Spilman’s row;En de pleeceman walk erbout,Keepin’ some in en some out.En I ask: “What dey gwine doFo’ ’nough food to eat?”En Sime answer: “Ez fo’ dat,Small-pox cain’t be beat;Kaze when it done shet yo’ gate,Den de town gwine fill yo’ plate.”He say dem dat’s quarantinedDown in Spilman’s row,Gittin’ better things ter eatDan we am, fo’ sho;Say he see ’em take some foodBack dar dat wus mighty good.Den I min’ me ob my frien’s,How dey lonesome be,En I say: “I cain’t fo’get ’em—Dey am deah ter me!”En dey voices call en call,Till I heah dem ober all.’T last I say dat I mus’ goIf I am dey frien’;—While de guard walk updatway,I slip indisen’;—En in Spilman’s row I stayTill de small-pox pass erway.I don’t ketch it—no, suhree!Neber git de chance;Zeke wus down dar wid his fiddle,En I jine de dance;—En de city furnish foodDat, fo’ sho, tas’e mighty good.
Oh, de preacher done fineWhen I marry Em’line,But what did he mean, I wonder,When he stan dar en’ say:“I done jine you ter-day;Let nobody put you ter thunder!”
I ain’t neber work, not me!Fo’ de white trash. Kaze, you see,I wus fetch up mighty gran’By de bes’ folks in de lan’;—En dey teach me how ter doWork fo’ ladies rich ez you,’Fo’e de wah.“Who fetch me up?” Now, Missus, shoI done tol’ you dat befo’!Why a Miss wid heart ez trueEz wus eber knowed by you;En a face dat shine ez brightEz dem days so full ob light,’Fo’e de wah.When I sick in dem ole days,Missus don’t des go her ways,Leabin’ me ter cry en groanIn dat cabin all alone;Wid her han’s she wait on meTill I well ez I kin be,’Fo’e de wah.When de fus’ sweet baby come,Blessin’ my deah Missus’ home,’Twarn’t nobody else but meDressed it nice ez it could beIn a dress ob spotless white,(Shinin’ lak de robes ob light!)’Fo’e de wah.En when angels, by en by,Call dat darlin’ ter de sky,’Twus me robe it in its bes’,Ez I say: “Now, sleep en res’.”Den de house wus sad erwhileKaze we lose our only chile,—’Fo’e de wah.God won’t hab dem arms ob MissEmpty ob de mammy’s bliss,En he fill em up wid joy—Now a gal, en den a boy;En deysel’s dem chillun twineRoun’ dis happy heart ob mine,’Fo’e de wah.When dat jolly nigger, Ned,Take de notion in his headDat he want ter marry me,Missus say: “Well, we will see;”En she buy him fo’ her slave(He bin long time in his grave!)’Fo’e de wah.Buy him fo’ her slave, you see,So dat he kin live wid meIn de hut whar de sweet vineOb de yellow jes’mine twine;Whar de mockin’-bird all daySing kaze we wus glad en gay,’Fo’e de wah.Den dem Yankees come, you know,En dey beat de South, fo’ sho;Missus tell us: “You is free!You don’t b’long no mo’ ter me.”But us niggers up en say:“We gwine stay right whar we stay’Fo’e de wah!”En we stay. We didn’t goTer de North lak some I know.Dey sho thought dat dey gwine beRich up dar ez dey wus free;But dey soon come back aginTer de lan’ whar dey had bin’Fo’e de wah.Missus die.—Please ’scuse dese teahs;I mus’ cry, spite ob de yeahs,When I min’ me ob dat dayDat dey laid her deep awayBy de willow bendin’ low,—One she planted long ago’Fo’e de wah.Den dey scatter, all de res’,Some ter eas’, en some to wes’;One done jine de Miss on highIn de mansions ob de sky;Dem dat’s libin’ write ter meOb de times dat used ter be’Fo’e de wah.En dey sen’s some change erlong,Calling it “but des a song;”But it free dis nigger, sho,Frum a lot ob care en woe;En it make me dream dat ILibin in dem days gone by’Fo’e de wah.I is gittin weak en ole,En I know dat soon my soulSho gwine heah de angels come,Singin’, singin’, “Home, sweet home!”En up dar my eyes gwine seeAll de white folks deah to me’Fo’e de wah.
What de use ter go aginWhat de groun’ hog say,Little bud, dat done unfol’’Fo’e Spring come dis way?’Tis a shame fo’ dat sunshineTer be foolin’ you,When mo’ fros’ am prophesiedBy de prophet true:If de sun am shinin’ bright,He turn right awayBack into dat cozy bed,Whar till spring he stay.But if clouds am in de sky,Den he know, fo’ sho,Dat de winter am done passTer return no mo’.Yestiday, when he creep outFrum his winter den,He des turn his se’f erbout,En went in agin.He ain’t easy ter deceiveBy warm sun en breeze,Kaze he got a way ter knowIf dey’ll be a freeze.Wish de sunshine wouldn’t ’viteFlowers ter unfol’,When de prophet prophesyDar gwine be mo’ col’;Wish de little buds could knowWhat de groun’ hog say,En would stay shet, close en tight,Till Spring come ter stay.
Why you go en fight dat boy?Don’t you know he white?Bet de pleeceman come en git you’Fo’e you sleep dis night!Don’t you heah yo’ mammy say,Why you knock him down dat way?“Called you nigger?” Did he, sho?Den you done des right!Eb’ry time de po’ white buckraCall you dat, you fight!If you am one, I am sho’Taint dey place ter tell you so!
Git my mou’nin’ dress, Susanah,Out de bottom draw’;—It bin waitin’ long time widDis black hat ob straw,Fo’ de preacher ter come byEn preach Jeff up ter de sky.Jeff done pass away befo’ usDes six months ter-day;But it don’t seem long ez dat(How time pass away!)Since dey laid dat po’ boy downIn de churchyard’s holy groun’.Yestiday when I ast MissusLet me go ter-dayTer Jeff’s fun’ral, she so s’prisedTill she up en say:“Sakes! dey bury him, you know,Las’ yeah, long en long ago!”En I tell her dat de peopleLibin fur frum home,Couldn’t heah dat he wus gone,En dey want ter come;So we wait till news wus spreadEbrywhar dat he wus dead.En we ’vite so many peopleFrum de country roun’,Dat dar’ll be a sight ob niggersAt dat church, I’m boun’;So we better be gwine on,Kaze we set wid dem dat mou’n.
Uncle Bob say ter his dog, Leo:“You tangle yo’se’f in my heart-strings, sho,But de day gwine come when you got ter go,Kaze I ain’t got a dollarTer buy you a collar,En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”Uncle Bob say: “I dervide my bread,En I kiver you up in my nice, straw bed,But I sca’ed dat my dog gwine soon be dead,Kaze I ain’t got a dollarTer buy you a collar,En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”Uncle Bob say: “Oh, de stolen am sweet,En dat why you clim’ frue de fence ter de street,Do I already tol’ you de en’ you gwine meet!Kaze I ain’t got a dollarTer buy you a collar,En de dog-ketcher ketch you, sho.”
Sho ez dat dar sun on highShine on me ter-day,Dar gwine be a riber-rise,Lis’n what I say!’Fo’e de summer am done pas’Dat dar CongareeAm gwine over-flow dem banks,Rushin’ ter de sea.I does closely watch de signs,En de wasp, fo’ true,Biuldin’ higher up dis yeahDan she mos’ly do.By dat nes’, so safe en high,She done say ter me;“Dar gwine be a rise dis yeahOb de Congaree.”
De pe’simmons in de pastur’ am a-fallin’, fallin’ down,En de sweet pertaters waitin’ ter be dug frum out de groun’;Dat dey good de possum know,En he fatten on ’em, sho!En I tas’e his juice ter-morrer, else I neber tas’e it mo’.Bring de light-wood torch, Horiah, en don’t creep so slow erlong;Lif’ yo’ lazy feet up faster, so dey keep time ter dis song:“Mr. Possum, hear me say,’Tain’t no use ter run away,Kaze I sho gwine ketch en bleed you ’fo’e de breakin’ ob de day!Dem two dogs already trace him ter de big pe’simmon tree,En I see dem eyes ob his’n shinin’ down lak stars at me.He for sho am perch up high,But I git him, by en by,En dat feas’ I hab to-morrer beat de fines’ chicken pie.I done grab him by de neck, en I comin’ down agin,En de weight ob him do tell me he am fur frum bein’ thin;En he droop hisse’f en playDat he dead en pass away,Do he know dat if I loose him he gwine mighty soon be gay.He am sho a fine one, en I proud ter take him home,En de mammy en de chillun wake ter see him when he come;En I singe his tender hideTill it look lak it done fried,Den I try ter go ter sleep, but my eyes stay open wide.Oh, my eyes stay open wide, till de breakin’ ob de day,When de long, long night oh waitin’ am at las’ done pass away;En I go outside en scratchSweet pertaters frum de patch,Kaze wid juices ob de possum dey ain’t nothin’ else ter match.When we bake dat critter brown, wid pertaters stuff inside,Den we say: “Oh, hasten, nigger, ez de bridegroom ter de bride!”Come en dine wid us ter-day,En we know dat you gwine stayTill de las ob dat good possum am done hid frum sight away.
Bet de goldenrod’s a-bloomin’’Long de country roads;Bet de hick’ry nuts am fallin’By de loads en loads.Bet pe’simmons am mos’ ripe—Makes a feller grin!What’s de sign? Why, man alive,Cotton’s comin’ in!Bet ole Pete am busy nowBilin’ sorghum down;Bet dey’ll hab a pullin’ soon—’Vite me frum de town;Bet de apple’s dryin’ onChiny plates en tin,Bet all dis, en mo’, des kazeCotton’s comin’ in.Bet de rice am hangin’ nowHead down in de sun;Bet ole Massa’s habin’ timesWid his rod en gun;Wish I’d staid dar in de woods—Town’s chuck full ob sin,En I sho git homesick whenCotton’s comin’ in.Bet de pinders spread out onDe ole shed ter dry;Bet de possum know de wayTer de tree-top high.Soon dem darkies put away’Taters in de bin;—Lan’! I’s gwine back when PeteBrings his cotton in!
I bin watchin’ you, big Jim,En I s’prised, fo’ sho;You is done fo’git mos’ allDat you eber know.Dar you wus, at de cake-walk,Makin’ eyes at Sue,When you orter know dat galAin’t gwine look at you.Yo’ hair curl on top yo’ headLak sheep’s wool, fo’ sho,En yo’ skin am des ez blackEz de blackes’ crow.Ebry time you pass dat galShe stick up her nose,En draw back, des lak she sca’edYou gwine touch her clo’es.Think she am too good ter speakTer a coal-black manWhat, ez ebrybody know,Do de bes’ he kin,Kaze her skin ain’t black lak yourn,En her hair ain’t wool,She ac’ lak she am de queen—Sick’nin’ yaller fool!Ebry day she com’ dat hairLak de white folks do;Pin it back wid fine hair-pins,Shinin lak bran’ new;En she go erlong de streetHolding her head high,Lak she neber see her raceWhen dey pass her by.Us dat am de niggers right—Us don’t ac’ lak dat!When we com’ our hair we makeHeah en dar a plait;En we wrap ’em good wid cordSo dey sho gwine stayRight in place a week or mo’Frum de com’in’ day.En we don’t pass cullud folksWid our head up high,But we stop en speak wid dem’Fo’e we pass on by.En we as’ ’em: “How you do?How’s de folks at home?”En we tell ’em whar we live,Sayin’ “You mus’ come.”I’s bin watchin’ you, big Jim,En I’s s’prised, fo’ sho;Ez I sed, you is fo’gotAll you eber know.If you’s got good sense you’ll quitMakin’ eyes at Sue,Kaze dat stuck-up yaller galAin’t gwine look at you.
Dem gals stan’ erbout, en giggle en grin;Dey say: “His shoes shine’ lak a bran’ new pin!”En de way dat dey treat him am sholy a sin,When John go ter walk wid his gal.Dey laugh at his hat en dey laugh at his tie,En dey say: “Will you ’low us ter see you go by?”En sho wid sich nonsinse dat nigger dey try,When John go ter walk wid his gal.“Oh, shet up!” I tell ’em, “en dat right away,—I know what’s de matter, now heah what I say;You’s ebry one jealous, you sho is, ter-day,Kaze John gone ter walk wid his gal!”
Frow fish salt out on de grassEbrywhar dat man done pass,En be quick;Scatter it all roun’ de do’,Else somebody heah, fo’ sho,Gwine be sick.He done cunjur’ me, you know,One time long en long ago,’Fo’e you bo’n;En it ain’t fo’ good ter-dayDat he stop by heah dat way,Den pass on.Dat de way he done befo’,En wid fever laid me lowIn de bed.Go en spread de salt all roun’’Fo’e we bofe am lyin’ down,Sick or dead.
Oh, please, Missus, don’t as’ dat!Is you neber heah it sedHim dat plants a holly treeSho gwine lie down, stiff en dead,Soon’s dat tree grow big en high’Nough ter shade him whar he lie?I ain’t sca’ed ob death, not me!I’s bin baptized in de creek,En in big experience meetin’sI does rise sometimes ter speak;But I don’t tempt Providence;—’Tis a act ob wickedness.“How ter git it planted, den?”Ain’t got time, yo’se’f, you say?Lis’n, mum, en I will tell youWhat’s, fo’ true, de only way,’Th’out you hab somebody dieSoon’s dat tree grow big en high:Put a seed somewhar out do’s,So de win’ will blow it downDes whar you would hab it planted,On a nice, sof’ bit ob groun’.Dar it will take root en grow;I is tried it, en I know.But ter put de seed in groun’,Or ter plant dar de young tree,Am sho temptin’ Providence—En it ain’t bin done by me;Dat am how I’m heah ter-dayTer teach ole Missus de right way.
When I hab ter go ter bed,I sho civer up my head,Kaze I allers mighty sca’edDat de witches come at night.Dey does come sometimes, you know,En wid dem you got ter go,Ridin’ fas’ or ridin’ slow,When dey come fo’ you at night.I does try my bes’ ter shriek,But my voice git low en weak,En I shake so I cain’t speakWhen de witches come at night.Oh, dey tote you up so highTill you neahly touch de sky,En you sca’ed mos’ ’nough ter dieWhen you ride wid dem at night.“You des dream dat,” Missus say,But she don’t fool me ter-day!I done bin too fur awayWid dem witches des las’ night.
“Don’t b’I’eve in hants?” Well, dat des showDat you cartin neber know’Bout dat big house on de hill,Whar a sperit walk at nightWhen de dark done quench de light,En de worl’ am calm en still.“Who lib dar?” Well, gracious me!You won’t as’ dat when you seeDat ghos’ walkin’ roun’ de place;Ghos’ dat allers kneels en praysUnder dem magnolia trees,Wid a sad en longin’ face.Once, dey say, a sweet bride comeFrum her fur-off northern home,Ter dis lan’ ob flow’rs en song;En she love de birds en beesHummin’ ’roun’ dem fragrant trees,En wus happy all day long.Dar she go mos’ ebry dayWhen de noon-sun shine dat way,Waitin’ fo’ her man ter come;En when evenin’ light grow dimDar she go ter watch fo’ himTer come back ter dat glad home.En dey walk dar, des dem two,When de stars am peepin’ frueLeaves ob dem magnolia trees;En dey bofe am glad ob heartDes kaze dey don’t walk apart,En am kiss by dat same breeze.When one day dat man come home,He don’t see his young wife comeOut ter meet him on de lawn;She took sick, de people say,En her spirit pass away’Fo’e de little baby bo’n.Den her mammy write en say:“Fetch en bury her, we pray,By her sisters heah at home.”So she lie dar in de col’,Whar de win’s am strong en bol’,Waitin’ fo’ de kingdom come.But her sperit walk at night,When de dark done quench de light,Under dem magnolia trees;En she stop dar en kneel downWid her white dress floatin’ roun’In de gentle, sighin’ breeze.Oh, my heart ache in my breas’Fo’ dat sperit cravin’ res’!En I know it would fin’ easeIf dey bring dem bones some dayTer de south, en let ’em layUnder dem magnolia trees.