You k'n hide de fier, but w'at you gwine do wid de smoke?
Termorrow may be de carridge-driver's day for ploughin'.
Hit's a mighty deaf nigger dat don't year de dinner-ho'n.
Hit takes a bee fer ter git de sweetness out'n de hoar-houn'
blossom.
Ha'nts don't bodder longer hones' folks, but you better go 'roun'
de grave-yard.
De pig dat runs off wid de year er corn gits little mo' dan
de cob.
Sleepin' in de fence-cornder don't fetch Chrismus in de kitchen.
De spring-house may freeze, but de niggers 'll keep de shuck-pen
warm.
'Twix' de bug en de bee-martin 'tain't hard ter tell w'ich
gwineter git kotch.
Don't 'sput wid de squinch-owl. Jam de shovel in de fier.
You'd see mo' er de mink ef he know'd whar de yard dog sleeps.
Troubles is seasonin'.
'Simmons ain't good twel dey 'er fros'-bit.
Watch out w'en you'er gittin all you want. Fattenin' hogs ain't
in luck.
HIS SONGS
I. REVIVAL HYMN
OH, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes,
Wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangin' er de drums?
How many po' sinners'll be kotched out late
En fin' no latch ter de golden gate?
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer!
De sun mus'n't set on yo' sorrer,
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier-
Oh, Lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher!
W'en de nashuns er de earf is a stan'in all aroun,
Who's a gwineter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory-crown?
Who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol'.
Pages:
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164