FAREWELL TO ARCADYWith sombre mien, the Evening grayComes nagging at the heels of Day,And driven faster and still fasterBefore the dusky-mantled Master,The light fades from her fearful eyes,She hastens, stumbles, falls, and dies.Beside me Amaryllis weeps;The swelling tears obscure the deepsOf her dark eyes, as, mistily,The rushing rain conceals the sea.Here, lay my tuneless reed away,—I have no heart to tempt a lay.I scent the perfume of the roseWhich by my crystal fountain grows.In this sad time, are roses blowing?And thou, my fountain, art thou flowing,While I who watched thy waters springAm all too sad to smile or sing?Nay, give me back my pipe again,It yet shall breathe this single strain:Farewell to Arcady!
With sombre mien, the Evening grayComes nagging at the heels of Day,And driven faster and still fasterBefore the dusky-mantled Master,The light fades from her fearful eyes,She hastens, stumbles, falls, and dies.
With sombre mien, the Evening gray
Comes nagging at the heels of Day,
And driven faster and still faster
Before the dusky-mantled Master,
The light fades from her fearful eyes,
She hastens, stumbles, falls, and dies.
Beside me Amaryllis weeps;The swelling tears obscure the deepsOf her dark eyes, as, mistily,The rushing rain conceals the sea.Here, lay my tuneless reed away,—I have no heart to tempt a lay.
Beside me Amaryllis weeps;
The swelling tears obscure the deeps
Of her dark eyes, as, mistily,
The rushing rain conceals the sea.
Here, lay my tuneless reed away,—
I have no heart to tempt a lay.
I scent the perfume of the roseWhich by my crystal fountain grows.In this sad time, are roses blowing?And thou, my fountain, art thou flowing,
I scent the perfume of the rose
Which by my crystal fountain grows.
In this sad time, are roses blowing?
And thou, my fountain, art thou flowing,
While I who watched thy waters springAm all too sad to smile or sing?Nay, give me back my pipe again,It yet shall breathe this single strain:Farewell to Arcady!
While I who watched thy waters spring
Am all too sad to smile or sing?
Nay, give me back my pipe again,
It yet shall breathe this single strain:
Farewell to Arcady!
THE VOICE OF THE BANJOIn a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way,Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray,And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he,Lay a banjo, droning forth this reminiscent melody:"Night is closing in upon us, friend of mine, but don't be sad;Let us think of all the pleasures and the joys that we have had.Let us keep a merry visage, and be happy till the last,Let the future still be sweetened with the honey of the past."For I speak to you of summer nights upon the yellow sand,When the Southern moon was sailing high and silvering all the land;And if love tales were not sacred, there's a tale that I could tellOf your many nightly wanderings with a dusk and lovely belle."And I speak to you of care-free songs when labour's hour was o'er,And a woman waiting for your step outside the cabin door,And of something roly-poly that you took upon your lap,While you listened for the stumbling, hesitating words, 'Pap, pap.'"I could tell you of a 'possum hunt across the wooded grounds,I could call to mind the sweetness of the baying of the hounds,You could lift me up and smelling of the timber that 's in me,Build again a whole green forest with the mem'ry of a tree."So the future cannot hurt us while we keep the past in mind,What care I for trembling fingers,—what care you that you are blind?Time may leave us poor and stranded, circumstance may make us bend;But they 'll only find us mellower, won't they, comrade?—in the end."
In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way,Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray,And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he,Lay a banjo, droning forth this reminiscent melody:
In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic's way,
Sat an old man, bent and feeble, dusk of face, and hair of gray,
And beside him on the table, battered, old, and worn as he,
Lay a banjo, droning forth this reminiscent melody:
"Night is closing in upon us, friend of mine, but don't be sad;Let us think of all the pleasures and the joys that we have had.Let us keep a merry visage, and be happy till the last,Let the future still be sweetened with the honey of the past.
"Night is closing in upon us, friend of mine, but don't be sad;
Let us think of all the pleasures and the joys that we have had.
Let us keep a merry visage, and be happy till the last,
Let the future still be sweetened with the honey of the past.
"For I speak to you of summer nights upon the yellow sand,When the Southern moon was sailing high and silvering all the land;And if love tales were not sacred, there's a tale that I could tellOf your many nightly wanderings with a dusk and lovely belle.
"For I speak to you of summer nights upon the yellow sand,
When the Southern moon was sailing high and silvering all the land;
And if love tales were not sacred, there's a tale that I could tell
Of your many nightly wanderings with a dusk and lovely belle.
"And I speak to you of care-free songs when labour's hour was o'er,And a woman waiting for your step outside the cabin door,And of something roly-poly that you took upon your lap,While you listened for the stumbling, hesitating words, 'Pap, pap.'
"And I speak to you of care-free songs when labour's hour was o'er,
And a woman waiting for your step outside the cabin door,
And of something roly-poly that you took upon your lap,
While you listened for the stumbling, hesitating words, 'Pap, pap.'
"I could tell you of a 'possum hunt across the wooded grounds,I could call to mind the sweetness of the baying of the hounds,You could lift me up and smelling of the timber that 's in me,Build again a whole green forest with the mem'ry of a tree.
"I could tell you of a 'possum hunt across the wooded grounds,
I could call to mind the sweetness of the baying of the hounds,
You could lift me up and smelling of the timber that 's in me,
Build again a whole green forest with the mem'ry of a tree.
"So the future cannot hurt us while we keep the past in mind,What care I for trembling fingers,—what care you that you are blind?Time may leave us poor and stranded, circumstance may make us bend;But they 'll only find us mellower, won't they, comrade?—in the end."
"So the future cannot hurt us while we keep the past in mind,
What care I for trembling fingers,—what care you that you are blind?
Time may leave us poor and stranded, circumstance may make us bend;
But they 'll only find us mellower, won't they, comrade?—in the end."
THE STIRRUP CUPCome, drink a stirrup cup with me,Before we close our rouse.You 're all aglow with wine, I know:The master of the house,Unmindful of our revelry,Has drowned the carking devil care,And slumbers in his chair.Come, drink a cup before we start;We 've far to ride to-night.And Death may take the race we make,And check our gallant flight:But even he must play his part,And tho' the look he wears be grim,We 'll drink a toast to him!For Death,—a swift old chap is he,And swift the steed He rides.He needs no chart o'er main or mart,For no direction bides.So, come, a final, cup with me,And let the soldiers' chorus swell,—To hell with care, to hell!
Come, drink a stirrup cup with me,Before we close our rouse.You 're all aglow with wine, I know:The master of the house,Unmindful of our revelry,Has drowned the carking devil care,And slumbers in his chair.
Come, drink a stirrup cup with me,
Before we close our rouse.
You 're all aglow with wine, I know:
The master of the house,
Unmindful of our revelry,
Has drowned the carking devil care,
And slumbers in his chair.
Come, drink a cup before we start;We 've far to ride to-night.And Death may take the race we make,And check our gallant flight:But even he must play his part,And tho' the look he wears be grim,We 'll drink a toast to him!
Come, drink a cup before we start;
We 've far to ride to-night.
And Death may take the race we make,
And check our gallant flight:
But even he must play his part,
And tho' the look he wears be grim,
We 'll drink a toast to him!
For Death,—a swift old chap is he,And swift the steed He rides.He needs no chart o'er main or mart,For no direction bides.So, come, a final, cup with me,And let the soldiers' chorus swell,—To hell with care, to hell!
For Death,—a swift old chap is he,
And swift the steed He rides.
He needs no chart o'er main or mart,
For no direction bides.
So, come, a final, cup with me,
And let the soldiers' chorus swell,—
To hell with care, to hell!
A CHOICEThey please me not—these solemn songsThat hint of sermons covered up.'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,But in a poem let me sup,Not simples brewed to cure or easeHumanity's confessed disease,But the spirit-wine of a singing line,Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!
They please me not—these solemn songsThat hint of sermons covered up.'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,But in a poem let me sup,Not simples brewed to cure or easeHumanity's confessed disease,But the spirit-wine of a singing line,Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!
They please me not—these solemn songs
That hint of sermons covered up.
'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,
But in a poem let me sup,
Not simples brewed to cure or ease
Humanity's confessed disease,
But the spirit-wine of a singing line,
Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!
THEN AND NOWTHENHe loved her, and through many years,Had paid his fair devoted court,Until she wearied, and with sneersTurned all his ardent love to sport.That night within his chamber lone,He long sat writing by his bedA note in which his heart made moanFor love; the morning found him dead.NOWLike him, a man of later dayWas jilted by the maid he sought,And from her presence turned away,Consumed by burning, bitter thought.He sought his room to write—a curseLike him before and die, I ween.Ah no, he put his woes in verse,And sold them to a magazine.
He loved her, and through many years,Had paid his fair devoted court,Until she wearied, and with sneersTurned all his ardent love to sport.
He loved her, and through many years,
Had paid his fair devoted court,
Until she wearied, and with sneers
Turned all his ardent love to sport.
That night within his chamber lone,He long sat writing by his bedA note in which his heart made moanFor love; the morning found him dead.
That night within his chamber lone,
He long sat writing by his bed
A note in which his heart made moan
For love; the morning found him dead.
Like him, a man of later dayWas jilted by the maid he sought,And from her presence turned away,Consumed by burning, bitter thought.
Like him, a man of later day
Was jilted by the maid he sought,
And from her presence turned away,
Consumed by burning, bitter thought.
He sought his room to write—a curseLike him before and die, I ween.Ah no, he put his woes in verse,And sold them to a magazine.
He sought his room to write—a curse
Like him before and die, I ween.
Ah no, he put his woes in verse,
And sold them to a magazine.
AT CHESHIRE CHEESEWhen first of wise old Johnson taught,My youthful mind its homage brought,And made the pond'rous crusty sageThe object of a noble rage.Nor did I think (How dense we are!)That any day, however far,Would find me holding, unrepelled,The place that Doctor Johnson held!But change has come and time has moved,And now, applauded, unreproved,I hold, with pardonable pride,The place that Johnson occupied.Conceit! Presumption! What is this?You surely read my words amiss;Like Johnson I,—a man of mind!How could you ever be so blind?No. At the ancient "Cheshire Cheese,"Blown hither by some vagrant breeze,To dignify my shallow wit,In Doctor Johnson's seat I sit!
When first of wise old Johnson taught,My youthful mind its homage brought,And made the pond'rous crusty sageThe object of a noble rage.
When first of wise old Johnson taught,
My youthful mind its homage brought,
And made the pond'rous crusty sage
The object of a noble rage.
Nor did I think (How dense we are!)That any day, however far,Would find me holding, unrepelled,The place that Doctor Johnson held!
Nor did I think (How dense we are!)
That any day, however far,
Would find me holding, unrepelled,
The place that Doctor Johnson held!
But change has come and time has moved,And now, applauded, unreproved,I hold, with pardonable pride,The place that Johnson occupied.
But change has come and time has moved,
And now, applauded, unreproved,
I hold, with pardonable pride,
The place that Johnson occupied.
Conceit! Presumption! What is this?You surely read my words amiss;Like Johnson I,—a man of mind!How could you ever be so blind?
Conceit! Presumption! What is this?
You surely read my words amiss;
Like Johnson I,—a man of mind!
How could you ever be so blind?
No. At the ancient "Cheshire Cheese,"Blown hither by some vagrant breeze,To dignify my shallow wit,In Doctor Johnson's seat I sit!
No. At the ancient "Cheshire Cheese,"
Blown hither by some vagrant breeze,
To dignify my shallow wit,
In Doctor Johnson's seat I sit!
MY CORN-COB PIPEMen may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the starsThe real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars;But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom;It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume;It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe,With the sun's warm kiss upon them—is this corn-cob pipe.Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace,Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face;And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway,As I clasp it to my bosom—in a figurative way.It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress,And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success;So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type,And I press my lips devoutly to my corn-cob pipe.
Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the starsThe real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars;But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.
Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars
The real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars;
But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,
And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.
It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom;It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume;It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe,With the sun's warm kiss upon them—is this corn-cob pipe.
It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom;
It 's as dainty as the essence of the daintiest perfume;
It 's as sweet as are the orchards when the fruit is hanging ripe,
With the sun's warm kiss upon them—is this corn-cob pipe.
Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace,Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face;And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway,As I clasp it to my bosom—in a figurative way.
Thro' the smoke about it clinging, I delight its form to trace,
Like an oriental beauty with a veil upon her face;
And my room is dim with vapour as a church when censers sway,
As I clasp it to my bosom—in a figurative way.
It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress,And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success;So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type,And I press my lips devoutly to my corn-cob pipe.
It consoles me in misfortune and it cheers me in distress,
And it proves a warm partaker of my pleasures in success;
So I hail it as a symbol, friendship's true and worthy type,
And I press my lips devoutly to my corn-cob pipe.
IN AUGUSTWhen August days are hot an' dry,When burning copper is the sky,I 'd rather fish than feast or flyIn airy realms serene and high.I 'd take a suit not made for looks,Some easily digested books,Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks,Then would I seek the bays and brooks.I would eschew mine every task,In Nature's smiles my soul should bask,And I methinks no more could ask,Except—perhaps—one little flask.In case of accident, you know,Or should the wind come on to blow,Or I be chilled or capsized, so,A flask would be the only go.Then could I spend a happy time,—A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme(A bit of lemon, or of lime,To make my bottle's contents prime).When August days are hot an' dry,I won't sit by an' sigh or die,I 'll get my bottle (on the sly)And go ahead, and fish, and lie!
When August days are hot an' dry,When burning copper is the sky,I 'd rather fish than feast or flyIn airy realms serene and high.
When August days are hot an' dry,
When burning copper is the sky,
I 'd rather fish than feast or fly
In airy realms serene and high.
I 'd take a suit not made for looks,Some easily digested books,Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks,Then would I seek the bays and brooks.
I 'd take a suit not made for looks,
Some easily digested books,
Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks,
Then would I seek the bays and brooks.
I would eschew mine every task,In Nature's smiles my soul should bask,And I methinks no more could ask,Except—perhaps—one little flask.
I would eschew mine every task,
In Nature's smiles my soul should bask,
And I methinks no more could ask,
Except—perhaps—one little flask.
In case of accident, you know,Or should the wind come on to blow,Or I be chilled or capsized, so,A flask would be the only go.
In case of accident, you know,
Or should the wind come on to blow,
Or I be chilled or capsized, so,
A flask would be the only go.
Then could I spend a happy time,—A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme(A bit of lemon, or of lime,To make my bottle's contents prime).
Then could I spend a happy time,—
A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme
(A bit of lemon, or of lime,
To make my bottle's contents prime).
When August days are hot an' dry,I won't sit by an' sigh or die,I 'll get my bottle (on the sly)And go ahead, and fish, and lie!
When August days are hot an' dry,
I won't sit by an' sigh or die,
I 'll get my bottle (on the sly)
And go ahead, and fish, and lie!
THE DISTURBEROh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset;I am sure I 'll be jailed for a lunatic yet.I 'll be out of a job—it's the thing to expectWhen I 'm letting my duty go by with neglect.You may judge the extent and degree of my plightWhen I 'm thinking all day and a-dreaming all night,And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly,All on account of a sparkling eye.There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day!But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say?I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm.I have aye held my own on the playground or farm.And when I 've been tempted, I haven't been weak;But now—why, I tremble to hear a maid speak.I used to be bold, but now I 've grown shy,And all on account of a sparkling eye.There once was a time when my heart was devout,But now my religion is open to doubt.When parson is earnestly preaching of grace,My fancy is busy with drawing a face,Thro' the back of a bonnet most piously plain;'I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.'While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,—All on account of a sparkling eye.Oh, dear little conjurer, give o'er your wiles,It is easy for you, you're all blushes and smiles:But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed;I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;And if it goes on, I 'll drop hackle and flail,And go to the parson and tell him my tale.I warrant he 'll find me a cure for the sighThat you 're aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.
Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset;I am sure I 'll be jailed for a lunatic yet.I 'll be out of a job—it's the thing to expectWhen I 'm letting my duty go by with neglect.You may judge the extent and degree of my plightWhen I 'm thinking all day and a-dreaming all night,And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly,All on account of a sparkling eye.
Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset;
I am sure I 'll be jailed for a lunatic yet.
I 'll be out of a job—it's the thing to expect
When I 'm letting my duty go by with neglect.
You may judge the extent and degree of my plight
When I 'm thinking all day and a-dreaming all night,
And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly,
All on account of a sparkling eye.
There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day!But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say?I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm.I have aye held my own on the playground or farm.And when I 've been tempted, I haven't been weak;But now—why, I tremble to hear a maid speak.I used to be bold, but now I 've grown shy,And all on account of a sparkling eye.
There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day!
But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say?
I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm.
I have aye held my own on the playground or farm.
And when I 've been tempted, I haven't been weak;
But now—why, I tremble to hear a maid speak.
I used to be bold, but now I 've grown shy,
And all on account of a sparkling eye.
There once was a time when my heart was devout,But now my religion is open to doubt.When parson is earnestly preaching of grace,My fancy is busy with drawing a face,Thro' the back of a bonnet most piously plain;'I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.'While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,—All on account of a sparkling eye.
There once was a time when my heart was devout,
But now my religion is open to doubt.
When parson is earnestly preaching of grace,
My fancy is busy with drawing a face,
Thro' the back of a bonnet most piously plain;
'I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.'
While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,—
All on account of a sparkling eye.
Oh, dear little conjurer, give o'er your wiles,It is easy for you, you're all blushes and smiles:But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed;I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;And if it goes on, I 'll drop hackle and flail,And go to the parson and tell him my tale.I warrant he 'll find me a cure for the sighThat you 're aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.
Oh, dear little conjurer, give o'er your wiles,
It is easy for you, you're all blushes and smiles:
But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed;
I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;
And if it goes on, I 'll drop hackle and flail,
And go to the parson and tell him my tale.
I warrant he 'll find me a cure for the sigh
That you 're aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.
EXPECTATIONYou 'll be wonderin' whut 's de reasonI 's a grinnin' all de time,An' I guess you t'ink my speritsMus' be feelin' mighty prime.Well, I 'fess up, I is tickledAs a puppy at his paws.But you need n't think I's crazy,I ain' laffin' 'dout a cause.You's a wonderin' too, I reckon,Why I does n't seem to eat,An' I notice you a lookin'Lak you felt completely beatWhen I 'fuse to tek de bacon,An' don' settle on de ham.Don' you feel no feah erbout me,Jes' keep eatin', an' be ca'm.Fu' I's waitin' an' I's watchin''Bout a little t'ing I see—D' othah night I's out a walkin'An' I passed a 'simmon tree.Now I's whettin' up my hongry,An' I's laffin' fit to kill,Fu' de fros' done turned de 'simmons,An' de possum 's eat his fill.He done go'ged hisse'f owdacious,An' he stayin' by de tree!Don' you know, ol' Mistah PossumDat you gittin' fat fu' me?'T ain't no use to try to 'spute it,'Case I knows you's gittin' sweetWif dat 'simmon flavoh thoo you,So I's waitin' fu' yo' meat.An' some ebenin' me an TowsahGwine to come an' mek a call,We jes' drap in onexpectedFu' to shek yo' han', dat's all.Oh, I knows dat you 'll be tickled,Seems lak I kin see you smile,So pu'haps I mought pu'suade youFu' to visit us a while.
You 'll be wonderin' whut 's de reasonI 's a grinnin' all de time,An' I guess you t'ink my speritsMus' be feelin' mighty prime.Well, I 'fess up, I is tickledAs a puppy at his paws.But you need n't think I's crazy,I ain' laffin' 'dout a cause.
You 'll be wonderin' whut 's de reason
I 's a grinnin' all de time,
An' I guess you t'ink my sperits
Mus' be feelin' mighty prime.
Well, I 'fess up, I is tickled
As a puppy at his paws.
But you need n't think I's crazy,
I ain' laffin' 'dout a cause.
You's a wonderin' too, I reckon,Why I does n't seem to eat,An' I notice you a lookin'Lak you felt completely beatWhen I 'fuse to tek de bacon,An' don' settle on de ham.Don' you feel no feah erbout me,Jes' keep eatin', an' be ca'm.
You's a wonderin' too, I reckon,
Why I does n't seem to eat,
An' I notice you a lookin'
Lak you felt completely beat
When I 'fuse to tek de bacon,
An' don' settle on de ham.
Don' you feel no feah erbout me,
Jes' keep eatin', an' be ca'm.
Fu' I's waitin' an' I's watchin''Bout a little t'ing I see—D' othah night I's out a walkin'An' I passed a 'simmon tree.Now I's whettin' up my hongry,An' I's laffin' fit to kill,Fu' de fros' done turned de 'simmons,An' de possum 's eat his fill.
Fu' I's waitin' an' I's watchin'
'Bout a little t'ing I see—
D' othah night I's out a walkin'
An' I passed a 'simmon tree.
Now I's whettin' up my hongry,
An' I's laffin' fit to kill,
Fu' de fros' done turned de 'simmons,
An' de possum 's eat his fill.
He done go'ged hisse'f owdacious,An' he stayin' by de tree!Don' you know, ol' Mistah PossumDat you gittin' fat fu' me?'T ain't no use to try to 'spute it,'Case I knows you's gittin' sweetWif dat 'simmon flavoh thoo you,So I's waitin' fu' yo' meat.
He done go'ged hisse'f owdacious,
An' he stayin' by de tree!
Don' you know, ol' Mistah Possum
Dat you gittin' fat fu' me?
'T ain't no use to try to 'spute it,
'Case I knows you's gittin' sweet
Wif dat 'simmon flavoh thoo you,
So I's waitin' fu' yo' meat.
An' some ebenin' me an TowsahGwine to come an' mek a call,We jes' drap in onexpectedFu' to shek yo' han', dat's all.Oh, I knows dat you 'll be tickled,Seems lak I kin see you smile,So pu'haps I mought pu'suade youFu' to visit us a while.
An' some ebenin' me an Towsah
Gwine to come an' mek a call,
We jes' drap in onexpected
Fu' to shek yo' han', dat's all.
Oh, I knows dat you 'll be tickled,
Seems lak I kin see you smile,
So pu'haps I mought pu'suade you
Fu' to visit us a while.
LOVER'S LANESummah night an' sighin' breeze,'Long de lovah's lane;Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,'Long de lovah's lane.White folks' wo'k all done up gran'—Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'Struttin' lak we owned de lan','Long de lovah's lane.Owl a-settin' 'side de road,'Long de lovah's lane,Lookin' at us lak he knowedDis uz lovah's lane.Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,You ain' nevah loved in June,An' come hidin' f'om de moonDown in lovah's lane.Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,Down in lovah's lane,Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say'Long de lovah's lane.But I whispahs low lak dis,An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss—Mistah Bush he shek his fis',Down in lovah's lane.Whut I keer ef day is long,Down in lovah's lane.I kin allus sing a song'Long de lovah's lane.An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' sayMeks up fu' de weary dayWen I's strollin' by de way,Down in lovah's lane.An' dis t'ought will allus riseDown in lovah's lane;Wondah whethah in de skiesDey 's a lovah's lane.Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,'Ligion do look mighty blue,'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do'Dout a lovah's lane.
Summah night an' sighin' breeze,'Long de lovah's lane;Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,'Long de lovah's lane.White folks' wo'k all done up gran'—Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'Struttin' lak we owned de lan','Long de lovah's lane.
Summah night an' sighin' breeze,
'Long de lovah's lane;
Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,
'Long de lovah's lane.
White folks' wo'k all done up gran'—
Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'
Struttin' lak we owned de lan',
'Long de lovah's lane.
Owl a-settin' 'side de road,'Long de lovah's lane,Lookin' at us lak he knowedDis uz lovah's lane.Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,You ain' nevah loved in June,An' come hidin' f'om de moonDown in lovah's lane.
Owl a-settin' 'side de road,
'Long de lovah's lane,
Lookin' at us lak he knowed
Dis uz lovah's lane.
Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,
You ain' nevah loved in June,
An' come hidin' f'om de moon
Down in lovah's lane.
Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,Down in lovah's lane,Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say'Long de lovah's lane.But I whispahs low lak dis,An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss—Mistah Bush he shek his fis',Down in lovah's lane.
Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,
Down in lovah's lane,
Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say
'Long de lovah's lane.
But I whispahs low lak dis,
An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss—
Mistah Bush he shek his fis',
Down in lovah's lane.
Whut I keer ef day is long,Down in lovah's lane.I kin allus sing a song'Long de lovah's lane.An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' sayMeks up fu' de weary dayWen I's strollin' by de way,Down in lovah's lane.
Whut I keer ef day is long,
Down in lovah's lane.
I kin allus sing a song
'Long de lovah's lane.
An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say
Meks up fu' de weary day
Wen I's strollin' by de way,
Down in lovah's lane.
An' dis t'ought will allus riseDown in lovah's lane;Wondah whethah in de skiesDey 's a lovah's lane.Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,'Ligion do look mighty blue,'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do'Dout a lovah's lane.
An' dis t'ought will allus rise
Down in lovah's lane;
Wondah whethah in de skies
Dey 's a lovah's lane.
Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,
'Ligion do look mighty blue,
'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do
'Dout a lovah's lane.
PROTESTWho say my hea't ain't true to you?Dey bettah heish dey mouf.I knows I loves you thoo an' thooIn watah time er drouf.I wush dese people 'd stop dey talkin',Don't mean no mo' dan chicken's squawkin':I guess I knows which way I's walkin',I knows de norf f'om souf.I does not love Elizy Brown,I guess I knows my min'.You allus try to tek me downWid evaht'ing you fin'.Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on fillin'Yo' haid wid nonsense, an' you's willin'I bet some day dey 'll be a killin'Somewhaih along de line.O' cose I buys de gal ice-cream,Whut else I gwine to do?I knows jes' how de t'ing 'u'd seemEf I 'd be sho't wid you.On Sunday, you's at chu'ch a-shoutin',Den all de week you go 'roun' poutin'—I's mighty tiahed o' all dis doubtin',I tell you cause I's true.
Who say my hea't ain't true to you?Dey bettah heish dey mouf.I knows I loves you thoo an' thooIn watah time er drouf.I wush dese people 'd stop dey talkin',Don't mean no mo' dan chicken's squawkin':I guess I knows which way I's walkin',I knows de norf f'om souf.
Who say my hea't ain't true to you?
Dey bettah heish dey mouf.
I knows I loves you thoo an' thoo
In watah time er drouf.
I wush dese people 'd stop dey talkin',
Don't mean no mo' dan chicken's squawkin':
I guess I knows which way I's walkin',
I knows de norf f'om souf.
I does not love Elizy Brown,I guess I knows my min'.You allus try to tek me downWid evaht'ing you fin'.Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on fillin'Yo' haid wid nonsense, an' you's willin'I bet some day dey 'll be a killin'Somewhaih along de line.
I does not love Elizy Brown,
I guess I knows my min'.
You allus try to tek me down
Wid evaht'ing you fin'.
Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on fillin'
Yo' haid wid nonsense, an' you's willin'
I bet some day dey 'll be a killin'
Somewhaih along de line.
O' cose I buys de gal ice-cream,Whut else I gwine to do?I knows jes' how de t'ing 'u'd seemEf I 'd be sho't wid you.On Sunday, you's at chu'ch a-shoutin',Den all de week you go 'roun' poutin'—I's mighty tiahed o' all dis doubtin',I tell you cause I's true.
O' cose I buys de gal ice-cream,
Whut else I gwine to do?
I knows jes' how de t'ing 'u'd seem
Ef I 'd be sho't wid you.
On Sunday, you's at chu'ch a-shoutin',
Den all de week you go 'roun' poutin'—
I's mighty tiahed o' all dis doubtin',
I tell you cause I's true.
HYMNO li'l' lamb out in de col',De Mastah call you to de fol',O li'l' lamb!He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill;Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,O li'l' lamb!De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f;He wandah souf, he wandah no'f,O li'l' lamb!He wandah eas', he wandah wes';De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas',O li'l' lamb!Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;He want you walkin' by his side,O li'l' lamb!He know you weak, he know you so';But come, don' stay away no mo',O li'l' lamb!An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeahDe Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah—Sweet li'l' lamb!He answah f'om de brambles thick,"O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick"—O li'l' lamb!
O li'l' lamb out in de col',De Mastah call you to de fol',O li'l' lamb!He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill;Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,O li'l' lamb!
O li'l' lamb out in de col',
De Mastah call you to de fol',
O li'l' lamb!
He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill;
Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still,
O li'l' lamb!
De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f;He wandah souf, he wandah no'f,O li'l' lamb!He wandah eas', he wandah wes';De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas',O li'l' lamb!
De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f;
He wandah souf, he wandah no'f,
O li'l' lamb!
He wandah eas', he wandah wes';
De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas',
O li'l' lamb!
Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;He want you walkin' by his side,O li'l' lamb!He know you weak, he know you so';But come, don' stay away no mo',O li'l' lamb!
Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide;
He want you walkin' by his side,
O li'l' lamb!
He know you weak, he know you so';
But come, don' stay away no mo',
O li'l' lamb!
An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeahDe Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah—Sweet li'l' lamb!He answah f'om de brambles thick,"O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick"—O li'l' lamb!
An' af'ah while de lamb he hyeah
De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah—
Sweet li'l' lamb!
He answah f'om de brambles thick,
"O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick"—
O li'l' lamb!
LITTLE BROWN BABYLittle brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee.What you been doin', suh—makin' san' pies?Look at dat bib—you's ez du'ty ez me.Look at dat mouf—dat's merlasses, I bet;Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's.Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit,Bein' so sticky an sweet—goodness lan's!Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,Who's pappy's darlin' an' who 's pappy's chile?Who is it all de day nevah once triesFu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile?Whah did you git dem teef? My, you 's a scamp!Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin?Pappy do' know you—I b'lieves you 's a tramp;Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in!Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san',We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah;Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man;I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah.Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do',Hyeah 's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat.Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo',Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!Dah, now, I t'ought dat you 'd hug me up close.Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy.He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se;He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy.Come to you' pallet now—go to yo' res;Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies;Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'—Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee.What you been doin', suh—makin' san' pies?Look at dat bib—you's ez du'ty ez me.Look at dat mouf—dat's merlasses, I bet;Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's.Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit,Bein' so sticky an sweet—goodness lan's!
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,
Come to yo' pappy an' set on his knee.
What you been doin', suh—makin' san' pies?
Look at dat bib—you's ez du'ty ez me.
Look at dat mouf—dat's merlasses, I bet;
Come hyeah, Maria, an' wipe off his han's.
Bees gwine to ketch you an' eat you up yit,
Bein' so sticky an sweet—goodness lan's!
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,Who's pappy's darlin' an' who 's pappy's chile?Who is it all de day nevah once triesFu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile?Whah did you git dem teef? My, you 's a scamp!Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin?Pappy do' know you—I b'lieves you 's a tramp;Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in!
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes,
Who's pappy's darlin' an' who 's pappy's chile?
Who is it all de day nevah once tries
Fu' to be cross, er once loses dat smile?
Whah did you git dem teef? My, you 's a scamp!
Whah did dat dimple come f'om in yo' chin?
Pappy do' know you—I b'lieves you 's a tramp;
Mammy, dis hyeah's some ol' straggler got in!
Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san',We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah;Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man;I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah.Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do',Hyeah 's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat.Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo',Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!
Let's th'ow him outen de do' in de san',
We do' want stragglers a-layin' 'roun' hyeah;
Let's gin him 'way to de big buggah-man;
I know he's hidin' erroun' hyeah right neah.
Buggah-man, buggah-man, come in de do',
Hyeah 's a bad boy you kin have fu' to eat.
Mammy an' pappy do' want him no mo',
Swaller him down f'om his haid to his feet!
Dah, now, I t'ought dat you 'd hug me up close.Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy.He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se;He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy.Come to you' pallet now—go to yo' res;Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies;Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'—Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!
Dah, now, I t'ought dat you 'd hug me up close.
Go back, ol' buggah, you sha'n't have dis boy.
He ain't no tramp, ner no straggler, of co'se;
He's pappy's pa'dner an' play-mate an' joy.
Come to you' pallet now—go to yo' res;
Wisht you could allus know ease an' cleah skies;
Wisht you could stay jes' a chile on my breas'—
Little brown baby wif spa'klin' eyes!
TIME TO TINKER 'ROUN'!Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin',Spring is good wif greens and grass,An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,Dough hit brings de freezin' blas;But de time dat is de fines',Whethah fiel's is green er brown,Is w'en de rain 's a-po'in'An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun.Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness,An' you men's de broken chair.Hummin' all de time you 's wo'kin'Some ol' common kind o' air.Evah now an' then you looks out,Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown,But you cain't, you 's glad hit 's rainin',An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun'.Oh, you 'ten's lak you so anxiousEvah time it so't o' stops.W'en hit goes on, den you reckonDat de wet 'll he'p de crops.But hit ain't de crops you 's aftah;You knows w'en de rain comes downDat's hit's too wet out fu' wo'kin',An' dey 's time to tinker roun'.Oh, dey 's fun inside de co'n-crib.An' dey 's laffin' at de ba'n;An' dey 's allus some one jokin',Er some one to tell a ya'n.Dah 's a quiet in yo' cabin,Only fu' de rain's sof soun';So you 's mighty blessed happyW'en dey 's time to tinker 'roun'!
Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin',Spring is good wif greens and grass,An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,Dough hit brings de freezin' blas;But de time dat is de fines',Whethah fiel's is green er brown,Is w'en de rain 's a-po'in'An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun.
Summah 's nice, wif sun a-shinin',
Spring is good wif greens and grass,
An' dey 's some t'ings nice 'bout wintah,
Dough hit brings de freezin' blas;
But de time dat is de fines',
Whethah fiel's is green er brown,
Is w'en de rain 's a-po'in'
An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun.
Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness,An' you men's de broken chair.Hummin' all de time you 's wo'kin'Some ol' common kind o' air.Evah now an' then you looks out,Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown,But you cain't, you 's glad hit 's rainin',An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun'.
Den you men's de mule's ol' ha'ness,
An' you men's de broken chair.
Hummin' all de time you 's wo'kin'
Some ol' common kind o' air.
Evah now an' then you looks out,
Tryin' mighty ha'd to frown,
But you cain't, you 's glad hit 's rainin',
An' dey 's time to tinker 'roun'.
Oh, you 'ten's lak you so anxiousEvah time it so't o' stops.W'en hit goes on, den you reckonDat de wet 'll he'p de crops.But hit ain't de crops you 's aftah;You knows w'en de rain comes downDat's hit's too wet out fu' wo'kin',An' dey 's time to tinker roun'.
Oh, you 'ten's lak you so anxious
Evah time it so't o' stops.
W'en hit goes on, den you reckon
Dat de wet 'll he'p de crops.
But hit ain't de crops you 's aftah;
You knows w'en de rain comes down
Dat's hit's too wet out fu' wo'kin',
An' dey 's time to tinker roun'.
Oh, dey 's fun inside de co'n-crib.An' dey 's laffin' at de ba'n;An' dey 's allus some one jokin',Er some one to tell a ya'n.Dah 's a quiet in yo' cabin,Only fu' de rain's sof soun';So you 's mighty blessed happyW'en dey 's time to tinker 'roun'!
Oh, dey 's fun inside de co'n-crib.
An' dey 's laffin' at de ba'n;
An' dey 's allus some one jokin',
Er some one to tell a ya'n.
Dah 's a quiet in yo' cabin,
Only fu' de rain's sof soun';
So you 's mighty blessed happy
W'en dey 's time to tinker 'roun'!
THE REAL QUESTIONFolks is talkin' 'bout de money, 'bout de silvah an' de gold;All de time de season 's changin' an' de days is gittin' cold.An' dey 's wond'rin' 'bout de metals, whethah we'll have one er two.While de price o' coal is risin' an' dey 's two months' rent dat 's due.Some folks says dat gold 's de only money dat is wuff de name,Den de othahs rise an' tell 'em dat dey ought to be ashame,An' dat silvah is de only thing to save us f'om de powahOf de gold-bug ragin' 'roun' an' seekin' who he may devowah.Well, you folks kin keep on shoutin' wif yo' gold er silvah cry,But I tell you people hams is sceerce an' fowls is roostin' high.An' hit ain't de so't o' money dat is pesterin' my min',But de question I want answehed 's how to get at any kin'!
Folks is talkin' 'bout de money, 'bout de silvah an' de gold;All de time de season 's changin' an' de days is gittin' cold.An' dey 's wond'rin' 'bout de metals, whethah we'll have one er two.While de price o' coal is risin' an' dey 's two months' rent dat 's due.
Folks is talkin' 'bout de money, 'bout de silvah an' de gold;
All de time de season 's changin' an' de days is gittin' cold.
An' dey 's wond'rin' 'bout de metals, whethah we'll have one er two.
While de price o' coal is risin' an' dey 's two months' rent dat 's due.
Some folks says dat gold 's de only money dat is wuff de name,Den de othahs rise an' tell 'em dat dey ought to be ashame,An' dat silvah is de only thing to save us f'om de powahOf de gold-bug ragin' 'roun' an' seekin' who he may devowah.
Some folks says dat gold 's de only money dat is wuff de name,
Den de othahs rise an' tell 'em dat dey ought to be ashame,
An' dat silvah is de only thing to save us f'om de powah
Of de gold-bug ragin' 'roun' an' seekin' who he may devowah.
Well, you folks kin keep on shoutin' wif yo' gold er silvah cry,But I tell you people hams is sceerce an' fowls is roostin' high.An' hit ain't de so't o' money dat is pesterin' my min',But de question I want answehed 's how to get at any kin'!
Well, you folks kin keep on shoutin' wif yo' gold er silvah cry,
But I tell you people hams is sceerce an' fowls is roostin' high.
An' hit ain't de so't o' money dat is pesterin' my min',
But de question I want answehed 's how to get at any kin'!
JILTEDLucy done gone back on me,Dat's de way wif life.Evaht'ing was movin' free,T'ought I had my wife.Den some dahky comes along,Sings my gal a little song,Since den, evaht'ing's gone wrong,Evah day dey 's strife.Did n't answeh me to-day,Wen I called huh name,Would you t'ink she 'd ac' dat wayWen I ain't to blame?Dat 's de way dese women do,Wen dey fin's a fellow true,Den dey 'buse him thoo an' thoo;Well, hit 's all de same.Somep'n's wrong erbout my lung,An' I 's glad hit 's so.Doctah says 'at I 'll die young,Well, I wants to go!Whut 's de use o' livin' hyeah,Wen de gal you loves so deah,Goes back on you clean an' cleah—I sh'd like to know?
Lucy done gone back on me,Dat's de way wif life.Evaht'ing was movin' free,T'ought I had my wife.Den some dahky comes along,Sings my gal a little song,Since den, evaht'ing's gone wrong,Evah day dey 's strife.
Lucy done gone back on me,
Dat's de way wif life.
Evaht'ing was movin' free,
T'ought I had my wife.
Den some dahky comes along,
Sings my gal a little song,
Since den, evaht'ing's gone wrong,
Evah day dey 's strife.
Did n't answeh me to-day,Wen I called huh name,Would you t'ink she 'd ac' dat wayWen I ain't to blame?Dat 's de way dese women do,Wen dey fin's a fellow true,Den dey 'buse him thoo an' thoo;Well, hit 's all de same.
Did n't answeh me to-day,
Wen I called huh name,
Would you t'ink she 'd ac' dat way
Wen I ain't to blame?
Dat 's de way dese women do,
Wen dey fin's a fellow true,
Den dey 'buse him thoo an' thoo;
Well, hit 's all de same.
Somep'n's wrong erbout my lung,An' I 's glad hit 's so.Doctah says 'at I 'll die young,Well, I wants to go!Whut 's de use o' livin' hyeah,Wen de gal you loves so deah,Goes back on you clean an' cleah—I sh'd like to know?
Somep'n's wrong erbout my lung,
An' I 's glad hit 's so.
Doctah says 'at I 'll die young,
Well, I wants to go!
Whut 's de use o' livin' hyeah,
Wen de gal you loves so deah,
Goes back on you clean an' cleah—
I sh'd like to know?
THE NEWSWhut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me?Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see.Somep'n's gone wrong dat 's a-causin' you dread,—Don't be afeared to tell—Whut! mastah dead?Somebody brung de news early to-day,—One of de sojers he led, do you say?Did n't he foller whah ol' mastah lead?How kin he live w'en his leadah is dead?Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed;I wants to t'ink,—hit ain't cleah in my head:—Killed while a-leadin' his men into fight,—Dat 's whut you said, ain't it, did I hyeah right?Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel'?Lif me up some,—dah, jes' so I kin kneel.I was too weak to go wid him, dey said,Well, now I 'll—fin' him—so—mastah is dead.Yes, suh, I 's comin' ez fas' ez I kin,—Twas kin' o' da'k, but hit 's lightah agin:P'omised yo' pappy I 'd allus tek keerOf you,—yes, mastah,—I 's follerin',—hyeah!
Whut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me?Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see.Somep'n's gone wrong dat 's a-causin' you dread,—Don't be afeared to tell—Whut! mastah dead?
Whut dat you whisperin' keepin' f'om me?
Don't shut me out 'cause I 's ol' an' can't see.
Somep'n's gone wrong dat 's a-causin' you dread,—
Don't be afeared to tell—Whut! mastah dead?
Somebody brung de news early to-day,—One of de sojers he led, do you say?Did n't he foller whah ol' mastah lead?How kin he live w'en his leadah is dead?
Somebody brung de news early to-day,—
One of de sojers he led, do you say?
Did n't he foller whah ol' mastah lead?
How kin he live w'en his leadah is dead?
Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed;I wants to t'ink,—hit ain't cleah in my head:—Killed while a-leadin' his men into fight,—Dat 's whut you said, ain't it, did I hyeah right?
Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed;
I wants to t'ink,—hit ain't cleah in my head:—
Killed while a-leadin' his men into fight,—
Dat 's whut you said, ain't it, did I hyeah right?
Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel'?Lif me up some,—dah, jes' so I kin kneel.I was too weak to go wid him, dey said,Well, now I 'll—fin' him—so—mastah is dead.
Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel'?
Lif me up some,—dah, jes' so I kin kneel.
I was too weak to go wid him, dey said,
Well, now I 'll—fin' him—so—mastah is dead.
Yes, suh, I 's comin' ez fas' ez I kin,—Twas kin' o' da'k, but hit 's lightah agin:P'omised yo' pappy I 'd allus tek keerOf you,—yes, mastah,—I 's follerin',—hyeah!
Yes, suh, I 's comin' ez fas' ez I kin,—
Twas kin' o' da'k, but hit 's lightah agin:
P'omised yo' pappy I 'd allus tek keer
Of you,—yes, mastah,—I 's follerin',—hyeah!
CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTATIONIt was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day—Bofe de weathah an' de people—not a one of us was gay;Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah,Fu' a da'ky 's allus happy when de holidays is neah.But we wasn't, fu' dat mo'nin' Mastah 'd tol' us we mus' go,He 'd been payin' us sence freedom, but he couldn't pay no mo';'He wa'n't nevah used to plannin' 'fo' he got so po' an' ol',So he gwine to give up tryin', an' de homestead mus' be sol'.I kin see him stan'in' now erpon de step ez cleah ez day,Wid de win' a-kind o' fondlin' thoo his haih all thin an' gray;An' I 'membah how he trimbled when he said, "It's ha 'd fu' me,Not to mek yo' Chrismus brightah, but I 'low it wa'n't to be."All de women was a-cryin', an' de men, too, on de sly,An' I noticed somep'n shinin' even in ol' Mastah's eye.But we all stood still to listen ez ol' Ben come f'om de crowdAn' spoke up, a-try'n' to steady down his voice and mek it loud:—"Look hyeah, Mastah, I 's been servin' you' fu' lo! dese many yeahs,An' now, sence we 's got freedom an' you 's kind o' po', hit 'pearsDat you want us all to leave you 'cause you don't t'ink you can pay.Ef my membry has n't fooled me, seem dat whut I hyead you say."Er in othah wo'ds, you wants us to fu'git dat you 's been kin',An' ez soon ez you is he'pless, we 's to leave you hyeah behin'.Well, ef dat 's de way dis freedom ac's on people, white er black,You kin jes' tell Mistah Lincum fu' to tek his freedom back."We gwine wo'k dis ol' plantation fu' whatevah we kin git,Fu' I know hit did suppo't us, an' de place kin do it yit.Now de land is yo's, de hands is ouahs, an' I reckon we 'll be brave,An' we 'll bah ez much ez you do w'en we has to scrape an' save."Ol' Mastah stood dah trimblin', but a-smilin' thoo his teahs,An' den hit seemed jes' nachul-like, de place fah rung wid cheahs,An' soon ez dey was quiet, some one sta'ted sof an' low:"Praise God," an' den we all jined in, "from whom all blessin's flow!"Well, dey was n't no use tryin', ouah min's was sot to stay,An' po' ol' Mastah could n't plead ner baig, ner drive us 'way,An' all at once, hit seemed to us, de day was bright agin,So evahone was gay dat night, an' watched de Chrismus in.
It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day—Bofe de weathah an' de people—not a one of us was gay;Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah,Fu' a da'ky 's allus happy when de holidays is neah.
It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu' a mighty gloomy day—
Bofe de weathah an' de people—not a one of us was gay;
Cose you 'll t'ink dat 's mighty funny 'twell I try to mek hit cleah,
Fu' a da'ky 's allus happy when de holidays is neah.
But we wasn't, fu' dat mo'nin' Mastah 'd tol' us we mus' go,He 'd been payin' us sence freedom, but he couldn't pay no mo';'He wa'n't nevah used to plannin' 'fo' he got so po' an' ol',So he gwine to give up tryin', an' de homestead mus' be sol'.
But we wasn't, fu' dat mo'nin' Mastah 'd tol' us we mus' go,
He 'd been payin' us sence freedom, but he couldn't pay no mo';'
He wa'n't nevah used to plannin' 'fo' he got so po' an' ol',
So he gwine to give up tryin', an' de homestead mus' be sol'.
I kin see him stan'in' now erpon de step ez cleah ez day,Wid de win' a-kind o' fondlin' thoo his haih all thin an' gray;An' I 'membah how he trimbled when he said, "It's ha 'd fu' me,Not to mek yo' Chrismus brightah, but I 'low it wa'n't to be."
I kin see him stan'in' now erpon de step ez cleah ez day,
Wid de win' a-kind o' fondlin' thoo his haih all thin an' gray;
An' I 'membah how he trimbled when he said, "It's ha 'd fu' me,
Not to mek yo' Chrismus brightah, but I 'low it wa'n't to be."
All de women was a-cryin', an' de men, too, on de sly,An' I noticed somep'n shinin' even in ol' Mastah's eye.But we all stood still to listen ez ol' Ben come f'om de crowdAn' spoke up, a-try'n' to steady down his voice and mek it loud:—
All de women was a-cryin', an' de men, too, on de sly,
An' I noticed somep'n shinin' even in ol' Mastah's eye.
But we all stood still to listen ez ol' Ben come f'om de crowd
An' spoke up, a-try'n' to steady down his voice and mek it loud:—
"Look hyeah, Mastah, I 's been servin' you' fu' lo! dese many yeahs,An' now, sence we 's got freedom an' you 's kind o' po', hit 'pearsDat you want us all to leave you 'cause you don't t'ink you can pay.Ef my membry has n't fooled me, seem dat whut I hyead you say.
"Look hyeah, Mastah, I 's been servin' you' fu' lo! dese many yeahs,
An' now, sence we 's got freedom an' you 's kind o' po', hit 'pears
Dat you want us all to leave you 'cause you don't t'ink you can pay.
Ef my membry has n't fooled me, seem dat whut I hyead you say.
"Er in othah wo'ds, you wants us to fu'git dat you 's been kin',An' ez soon ez you is he'pless, we 's to leave you hyeah behin'.Well, ef dat 's de way dis freedom ac's on people, white er black,You kin jes' tell Mistah Lincum fu' to tek his freedom back.
"Er in othah wo'ds, you wants us to fu'git dat you 's been kin',
An' ez soon ez you is he'pless, we 's to leave you hyeah behin'.
Well, ef dat 's de way dis freedom ac's on people, white er black,
You kin jes' tell Mistah Lincum fu' to tek his freedom back.
"We gwine wo'k dis ol' plantation fu' whatevah we kin git,Fu' I know hit did suppo't us, an' de place kin do it yit.Now de land is yo's, de hands is ouahs, an' I reckon we 'll be brave,An' we 'll bah ez much ez you do w'en we has to scrape an' save."
"We gwine wo'k dis ol' plantation fu' whatevah we kin git,
Fu' I know hit did suppo't us, an' de place kin do it yit.
Now de land is yo's, de hands is ouahs, an' I reckon we 'll be brave,
An' we 'll bah ez much ez you do w'en we has to scrape an' save."
Ol' Mastah stood dah trimblin', but a-smilin' thoo his teahs,An' den hit seemed jes' nachul-like, de place fah rung wid cheahs,An' soon ez dey was quiet, some one sta'ted sof an' low:"Praise God," an' den we all jined in, "from whom all blessin's flow!"
Ol' Mastah stood dah trimblin', but a-smilin' thoo his teahs,
An' den hit seemed jes' nachul-like, de place fah rung wid cheahs,
An' soon ez dey was quiet, some one sta'ted sof an' low:
"Praise God," an' den we all jined in, "from whom all blessin's flow!"
Well, dey was n't no use tryin', ouah min's was sot to stay,An' po' ol' Mastah could n't plead ner baig, ner drive us 'way,An' all at once, hit seemed to us, de day was bright agin,So evahone was gay dat night, an' watched de Chrismus in.
Well, dey was n't no use tryin', ouah min's was sot to stay,
An' po' ol' Mastah could n't plead ner baig, ner drive us 'way,
An' all at once, hit seemed to us, de day was bright agin,
So evahone was gay dat night, an' watched de Chrismus in.
ANGELINAWhen de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel,An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel;Ef you t'ink you got 'uligion an' you wants to keep it, too,You jes' bettah tek a hint an' git yo'self clean out o' view.Case de time is mighty temptin' when de chune is in de swing,Fu' a darky, saint or sinner man, to cut de pigeon-wing.An' you could n't he'p f'om dancin' ef yo' feet was boun' wif twine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.Don't you know Miss Angelina? She 's de da'lin' of de place.W'y, dey ain't no high-toned lady wif sich mannahs an' sich grace.She kin move across de cabin, wif its planks all rough an' wo';Jes' de same 's ef she was dancin' on ol' mistus' ball-room flo'.Fact is, you do' see no cabin—evaht'ing you see look grand,An' dat one ol' squeaky fiddle soun' to you jes' lak a ban';Cotton britches look lak broadclof an' a linsey dress look fine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.Some folks say dat dancin 's sinful, an' de blessed Lawd, dey say,Gwine to punish us fu' steppin' w'en we hyeah de music play.But I tell you I don' b'lieve it, fu' de Lawd is wise and good,An' he made de banjo's metal an' he made de fiddle's wood,An' he made de music in dem, so I don' quite t'ink he 'll keerEf our feet keeps time a little to de melodies we hyeah.W'y, dey's somep'n' downright holy in de way our faces shine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina bows so low,An' she lif huh sku't so dainty dat huh shoetop skacely show:An' dem teef o' huh'n a-shinin', ez she tek you by de han'—Go 'way, people, d' ain't anothah sich a lady in de lan'!When she 's movin' thoo de figgers er a-dancin' by huhse'f,Folks jes' stan' stock-still a-sta'in', an' dey mos' nigh hol's dey bref;An' de young mens, dey 's a-sayin', "I 's gwine mek dat damsel mine,"When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
When de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel,An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel;Ef you t'ink you got 'uligion an' you wants to keep it, too,You jes' bettah tek a hint an' git yo'self clean out o' view.Case de time is mighty temptin' when de chune is in de swing,Fu' a darky, saint or sinner man, to cut de pigeon-wing.An' you could n't he'p f'om dancin' ef yo' feet was boun' wif twine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
When de fiddle gits to singin' out a ol' Vahginny reel,
An' you 'mence to feel a ticklin' in yo' toe an' in yo' heel;
Ef you t'ink you got 'uligion an' you wants to keep it, too,
You jes' bettah tek a hint an' git yo'self clean out o' view.
Case de time is mighty temptin' when de chune is in de swing,
Fu' a darky, saint or sinner man, to cut de pigeon-wing.
An' you could n't he'p f'om dancin' ef yo' feet was boun' wif twine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Don't you know Miss Angelina? She 's de da'lin' of de place.W'y, dey ain't no high-toned lady wif sich mannahs an' sich grace.She kin move across de cabin, wif its planks all rough an' wo';Jes' de same 's ef she was dancin' on ol' mistus' ball-room flo'.Fact is, you do' see no cabin—evaht'ing you see look grand,An' dat one ol' squeaky fiddle soun' to you jes' lak a ban';Cotton britches look lak broadclof an' a linsey dress look fine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Don't you know Miss Angelina? She 's de da'lin' of de place.
W'y, dey ain't no high-toned lady wif sich mannahs an' sich grace.
She kin move across de cabin, wif its planks all rough an' wo';
Jes' de same 's ef she was dancin' on ol' mistus' ball-room flo'.
Fact is, you do' see no cabin—evaht'ing you see look grand,
An' dat one ol' squeaky fiddle soun' to you jes' lak a ban';
Cotton britches look lak broadclof an' a linsey dress look fine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Some folks say dat dancin 's sinful, an' de blessed Lawd, dey say,Gwine to punish us fu' steppin' w'en we hyeah de music play.But I tell you I don' b'lieve it, fu' de Lawd is wise and good,An' he made de banjo's metal an' he made de fiddle's wood,An' he made de music in dem, so I don' quite t'ink he 'll keerEf our feet keeps time a little to de melodies we hyeah.W'y, dey's somep'n' downright holy in de way our faces shine,When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Some folks say dat dancin 's sinful, an' de blessed Lawd, dey say,
Gwine to punish us fu' steppin' w'en we hyeah de music play.
But I tell you I don' b'lieve it, fu' de Lawd is wise and good,
An' he made de banjo's metal an' he made de fiddle's wood,
An' he made de music in dem, so I don' quite t'ink he 'll keer
Ef our feet keeps time a little to de melodies we hyeah.
W'y, dey's somep'n' downright holy in de way our faces shine,
When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina bows so low,An' she lif huh sku't so dainty dat huh shoetop skacely show:An' dem teef o' huh'n a-shinin', ez she tek you by de han'—Go 'way, people, d' ain't anothah sich a lady in de lan'!When she 's movin' thoo de figgers er a-dancin' by huhse'f,Folks jes' stan' stock-still a-sta'in', an' dey mos' nigh hol's dey bref;An' de young mens, dey 's a-sayin', "I 's gwine mek dat damsel mine,"When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina bows so low,
An' she lif huh sku't so dainty dat huh shoetop skacely show:
An' dem teef o' huh'n a-shinin', ez she tek you by de han'—
Go 'way, people, d' ain't anothah sich a lady in de lan'!
When she 's movin' thoo de figgers er a-dancin' by huhse'f,
Folks jes' stan' stock-still a-sta'in', an' dey mos' nigh hol's dey bref;
An' de young mens, dey 's a-sayin', "I 's gwine mek dat damsel mine,"
When Angelina Johnson comes a-swingin' down de line.
FOOLIN' WID DE SEASONSSeems lak folks is mighty curusIn de way dey t'inks an' ac's.Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin'Up de t'ings in almanacs.Now, I min' my nex' do' neighbour,—He's a mighty likely man,But he nevah t'inks o' nuffin'Ceptin' jes' to plot an' plan.All de wintah he was plannin'How he 'd gethah sassafrasJes' ez soon ez evah SpringtimePut some greenness in de grass.An' he 'lowed a little soonahHe could stan' a coolah breezeSo 's to mek a little moneyF'om de sugah-watah trees.In de summah, he 'd be waihin'Out de linin' of his soul,Try 'n' ca'ci'late an' fashionHow he 'd git his wintah coal;An' I b'lieve he got his jedgementJes' so tuckahed out an' thinnedDat he t'ought a robin's whistleWas de whistle of de wind.Why won't folks gin up dey plannin',An' jes' be content to knowDat dey 's gittin' all dat's fu' demIn de days dat come an' go?Why won't folks quit movin' forrard?Ain't hit bettah jes' to stan'An' be satisfied wid livin'In de season dat 's at han'?Hit 's enough fu' me to listenW'en de birds is singin' 'roun','Dout a-guessin' whut 'll happenW'en de snow is on de groun'.In de Springtime an' de summah,I lays sorrer on de she'f;An' I knows ol' Mistah WintahGwine to hustle fu' hisse'f.We been put hyeah fu' a pu'pose,But de questun dat has rizAn' made lots o' people diffahIs jes' whut dat pu'pose is.Now, accordin' to my reas'nin',Hyeah's de p'int whaih I 's arriv,Sence de Lawd put life into us,We was put hyeah fu' to live!
Seems lak folks is mighty curusIn de way dey t'inks an' ac's.Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin'Up de t'ings in almanacs.Now, I min' my nex' do' neighbour,—He's a mighty likely man,But he nevah t'inks o' nuffin'Ceptin' jes' to plot an' plan.
Seems lak folks is mighty curus
In de way dey t'inks an' ac's.
Dey jes' spen's dey days a-mixin'
Up de t'ings in almanacs.
Now, I min' my nex' do' neighbour,—
He's a mighty likely man,
But he nevah t'inks o' nuffin
'Ceptin' jes' to plot an' plan.
All de wintah he was plannin'How he 'd gethah sassafrasJes' ez soon ez evah SpringtimePut some greenness in de grass.An' he 'lowed a little soonahHe could stan' a coolah breezeSo 's to mek a little moneyF'om de sugah-watah trees.
All de wintah he was plannin'
How he 'd gethah sassafras
Jes' ez soon ez evah Springtime
Put some greenness in de grass.
An' he 'lowed a little soonah
He could stan' a coolah breeze
So 's to mek a little money
F'om de sugah-watah trees.
In de summah, he 'd be waihin'Out de linin' of his soul,Try 'n' ca'ci'late an' fashionHow he 'd git his wintah coal;An' I b'lieve he got his jedgementJes' so tuckahed out an' thinnedDat he t'ought a robin's whistleWas de whistle of de wind.
In de summah, he 'd be waihin'
Out de linin' of his soul,
Try 'n' ca'ci'late an' fashion
How he 'd git his wintah coal;
An' I b'lieve he got his jedgement
Jes' so tuckahed out an' thinned
Dat he t'ought a robin's whistle
Was de whistle of de wind.
Why won't folks gin up dey plannin',An' jes' be content to knowDat dey 's gittin' all dat's fu' demIn de days dat come an' go?Why won't folks quit movin' forrard?Ain't hit bettah jes' to stan'An' be satisfied wid livin'In de season dat 's at han'?
Why won't folks gin up dey plannin',
An' jes' be content to know
Dat dey 's gittin' all dat's fu' dem
In de days dat come an' go?
Why won't folks quit movin' forrard?
Ain't hit bettah jes' to stan'
An' be satisfied wid livin'
In de season dat 's at han'?
Hit 's enough fu' me to listenW'en de birds is singin' 'roun','Dout a-guessin' whut 'll happenW'en de snow is on de groun'.In de Springtime an' de summah,I lays sorrer on de she'f;An' I knows ol' Mistah WintahGwine to hustle fu' hisse'f.
Hit 's enough fu' me to listen
W'en de birds is singin' 'roun',
'Dout a-guessin' whut 'll happen
W'en de snow is on de groun'.
In de Springtime an' de summah,
I lays sorrer on de she'f;
An' I knows ol' Mistah Wintah
Gwine to hustle fu' hisse'f.
We been put hyeah fu' a pu'pose,But de questun dat has rizAn' made lots o' people diffahIs jes' whut dat pu'pose is.Now, accordin' to my reas'nin',Hyeah's de p'int whaih I 's arriv,Sence de Lawd put life into us,We was put hyeah fu' to live!
We been put hyeah fu' a pu'pose,
But de questun dat has riz
An' made lots o' people diffah
Is jes' whut dat pu'pose is.
Now, accordin' to my reas'nin',
Hyeah's de p'int whaih I 's arriv,
Sence de Lawd put life into us,
We was put hyeah fu' to live!
MY SORT O' MANI don't believe in 'ristercratsAn' never did, you see;The plain ol' homelike sorter folksIs good enough fur me.O' course, I don't desire a manTo be too tarnal rough,But then, I think all folks should knowWhen they air nice enough.Now there is folks in this here world,From peasant up to king,Who want to be so awful niceThey overdo the thing.That's jest the thing that makes me sick,An' quicker 'n a winkI set it down that them same folksAin't half so good 's you think.I like to see a man dress nice,In clothes becomin' too;I like to see a woman fixAs women orter to do;An' boys an' gals I like to seeLook fresh an' young an' spry.—We all must have our vanityAn' pride before we die.But I jedge no man by his clothes,—Nor gentleman nor tramp;The man that wears the finest suitMay be the biggest scamp,An' he whose limbs air clad in ragsThat make a mournful sight,In life's great battle may have provedA hero in the fight.I don't believe in 'ristercrats;I like the honest tanThat lies upon the healthful cheekAn' speaks the honest man;I like to grasp the brawny handThat labor's lips have kissed,For he who has not labored hereLife's greatest pride has missed:The pride to feel that yore own strengthHas cleaved fur you the wayTo heights to which you were not born,But struggled day by day.What though the thousands sneer an' scoff,An' scorn yore humble birth?Kings are but puppets; you are kingBy right o' royal worth.The man who simply sits an' waitsFur good to come along,Ain't worth the breath that one would takeTo tell him he is wrong.Fur good ain't flowin' round this worldFur every fool to sup;You 've got to put yore see-ers on,An' go an' hunt it up.Good goes with honesty, I say,To honour an' to bless;To rich an' poor alike it bringsA wealth o' happiness.The 'ristercrats ain't got it all,Fur much to their su'prise,That's one of earth's most blessed thingsThey can't monopolize.
I don't believe in 'ristercratsAn' never did, you see;The plain ol' homelike sorter folksIs good enough fur me.O' course, I don't desire a manTo be too tarnal rough,But then, I think all folks should knowWhen they air nice enough.
I don't believe in 'ristercrats
An' never did, you see;
The plain ol' homelike sorter folks
Is good enough fur me.
O' course, I don't desire a man
To be too tarnal rough,
But then, I think all folks should know
When they air nice enough.
Now there is folks in this here world,From peasant up to king,Who want to be so awful niceThey overdo the thing.That's jest the thing that makes me sick,An' quicker 'n a winkI set it down that them same folksAin't half so good 's you think.
Now there is folks in this here world,
From peasant up to king,
Who want to be so awful nice
They overdo the thing.
That's jest the thing that makes me sick,
An' quicker 'n a wink
I set it down that them same folks
Ain't half so good 's you think.
I like to see a man dress nice,In clothes becomin' too;I like to see a woman fixAs women orter to do;An' boys an' gals I like to seeLook fresh an' young an' spry.—We all must have our vanityAn' pride before we die.
I like to see a man dress nice,
In clothes becomin' too;
I like to see a woman fix
As women orter to do;
An' boys an' gals I like to see
Look fresh an' young an' spry.—
We all must have our vanity
An' pride before we die.
But I jedge no man by his clothes,—Nor gentleman nor tramp;The man that wears the finest suitMay be the biggest scamp,An' he whose limbs air clad in ragsThat make a mournful sight,In life's great battle may have provedA hero in the fight.
But I jedge no man by his clothes,—
Nor gentleman nor tramp;
The man that wears the finest suit
May be the biggest scamp,
An' he whose limbs air clad in rags
That make a mournful sight,
In life's great battle may have proved
A hero in the fight.
I don't believe in 'ristercrats;I like the honest tanThat lies upon the healthful cheekAn' speaks the honest man;I like to grasp the brawny handThat labor's lips have kissed,For he who has not labored hereLife's greatest pride has missed:
I don't believe in 'ristercrats;
I like the honest tan
That lies upon the healthful cheek
An' speaks the honest man;
I like to grasp the brawny hand
That labor's lips have kissed,
For he who has not labored here
Life's greatest pride has missed:
The pride to feel that yore own strengthHas cleaved fur you the wayTo heights to which you were not born,But struggled day by day.What though the thousands sneer an' scoff,An' scorn yore humble birth?Kings are but puppets; you are kingBy right o' royal worth.
The pride to feel that yore own strength
Has cleaved fur you the way
To heights to which you were not born,
But struggled day by day.
What though the thousands sneer an' scoff,
An' scorn yore humble birth?
Kings are but puppets; you are king
By right o' royal worth.
The man who simply sits an' waitsFur good to come along,Ain't worth the breath that one would takeTo tell him he is wrong.Fur good ain't flowin' round this worldFur every fool to sup;You 've got to put yore see-ers on,An' go an' hunt it up.
The man who simply sits an' waits
Fur good to come along,
Ain't worth the breath that one would take
To tell him he is wrong.
Fur good ain't flowin' round this world
Fur every fool to sup;
You 've got to put yore see-ers on,
An' go an' hunt it up.
Good goes with honesty, I say,To honour an' to bless;To rich an' poor alike it bringsA wealth o' happiness.The 'ristercrats ain't got it all,Fur much to their su'prise,That's one of earth's most blessed thingsThey can't monopolize.
Good goes with honesty, I say,
To honour an' to bless;
To rich an' poor alike it brings
A wealth o' happiness.
The 'ristercrats ain't got it all,
Fur much to their su'prise,
That's one of earth's most blessed things
They can't monopolize.
POSSUMEf dey 's anyt'ing dat riles meAn' jes' gits me out o' hitch,Twell I want to tek my coat off,So 's to r'ar an' t'ar an' pitch,Hit's to see some ign'ant white man'Mittin' dat owdacious sin—Wen he want to cook a possumTekin' off de possum's skin.W'y dey ain't no use in talkin',Hit jes' hu'ts me to de hea'tFu' to see dem foolish peopleTh'owin' 'way de fines' pa't.W'y, dat skin is jes' ez tendahAn' ez juicy ez kin be;I knows all erbout de critter—Hide an' haih—don't talk to me!Possum skin is jes lak shoat skin;Jes' you swinge an' scrope it down,Tek a good sha'p knife an' sco' it,Den you bake it good an' brown.Huh-uh! honey, you 's so happyDat yo' thoughts is 'mos' a sinWhen you 's settin' dah a-chawin'On dat possum's cracklin' skin.White folks t'ink dey know 'bout eatin',An' I reckon dat dey doSometimes git a little ideeOf a middlin' dish er two;But dey ain't a t'ing dey knows ofDat I reckon cain't be beatWen we set down at de tableTo a unskun possum's meat!
Ef dey 's anyt'ing dat riles meAn' jes' gits me out o' hitch,Twell I want to tek my coat off,So 's to r'ar an' t'ar an' pitch,Hit's to see some ign'ant white man'Mittin' dat owdacious sin—Wen he want to cook a possumTekin' off de possum's skin.
Ef dey 's anyt'ing dat riles me
An' jes' gits me out o' hitch,
Twell I want to tek my coat off,
So 's to r'ar an' t'ar an' pitch,
Hit's to see some ign'ant white man
'Mittin' dat owdacious sin—
Wen he want to cook a possum
Tekin' off de possum's skin.
W'y dey ain't no use in talkin',Hit jes' hu'ts me to de hea'tFu' to see dem foolish peopleTh'owin' 'way de fines' pa't.W'y, dat skin is jes' ez tendahAn' ez juicy ez kin be;I knows all erbout de critter—Hide an' haih—don't talk to me!
W'y dey ain't no use in talkin',
Hit jes' hu'ts me to de hea't
Fu' to see dem foolish people
Th'owin' 'way de fines' pa't.
W'y, dat skin is jes' ez tendah
An' ez juicy ez kin be;
I knows all erbout de critter—
Hide an' haih—don't talk to me!
Possum skin is jes lak shoat skin;Jes' you swinge an' scrope it down,Tek a good sha'p knife an' sco' it,Den you bake it good an' brown.Huh-uh! honey, you 's so happyDat yo' thoughts is 'mos' a sinWhen you 's settin' dah a-chawin'On dat possum's cracklin' skin.
Possum skin is jes lak shoat skin;
Jes' you swinge an' scrope it down,
Tek a good sha'p knife an' sco' it,
Den you bake it good an' brown.
Huh-uh! honey, you 's so happy
Dat yo' thoughts is 'mos' a sin
When you 's settin' dah a-chawin'
On dat possum's cracklin' skin.
White folks t'ink dey know 'bout eatin',An' I reckon dat dey doSometimes git a little ideeOf a middlin' dish er two;But dey ain't a t'ing dey knows ofDat I reckon cain't be beatWen we set down at de tableTo a unskun possum's meat!
White folks t'ink dey know 'bout eatin',
An' I reckon dat dey do
Sometimes git a little idee
Of a middlin' dish er two;
But dey ain't a t'ing dey knows of
Dat I reckon cain't be beat
Wen we set down at de table
To a unskun possum's meat!
ON THE ROADI 's boun' to see my gal to-night—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,But when I does git to yo' do'Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',Dough lone de way, my dearie.De night is skeery-lak an' still—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!De way so long wif dis slow pace,'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' graceEf you was on a nearer place,Fu' lone de way, my dearie.I hyeah de hootin' of de owl—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef',Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'fIn shape to skeer me half to def—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!I whistles so's I won't be feared—Oh lone de way, my dearie!But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered,Fu' lone de way, my dearie.De sky been lookin' mighty glum,But you kin mek hit lighten some,Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come,Dough lone de way, my dearie.
I 's boun' to see my gal to-night—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,But when I does git to yo' do'Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',Dough lone de way, my dearie.
I 's boun' to see my gal to-night—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,
But when I does git to yo' do'
Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',
Dough lone de way, my dearie.
De night is skeery-lak an' still—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!De way so long wif dis slow pace,'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' graceEf you was on a nearer place,Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
De night is skeery-lak an' still—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De way so long wif dis slow pace,
'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' grace
Ef you was on a nearer place,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
I hyeah de hootin' of de owl—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef',Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'fIn shape to skeer me half to def—Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I hyeah de hootin' of de owl—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef',
Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'f
In shape to skeer me half to def—
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I whistles so's I won't be feared—Oh lone de way, my dearie!But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered,Fu' lone de way, my dearie.De sky been lookin' mighty glum,But you kin mek hit lighten some,Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come,Dough lone de way, my dearie.
I whistles so's I won't be feared—
Oh lone de way, my dearie!
But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
De sky been lookin' mighty glum,
But you kin mek hit lighten some,
Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come,
Dough lone de way, my dearie.