Avenging the Maine :: :: University of Virginia Library

When yer hur at nite de ole milch cow a-lowin'
'N houn dogs howling out der monful soun,
I tel yer now yer better git er redy,
Dey's gwinter plant sum boudy in de groun.

Yer neanter bleve in sines, not les yer wanter,
But sum deas morns u'll wake up in suprize;
'N if dea kum er houlin whur I'm sleepin,
I'll tel yer now dis darkey's gwiner rize.

'N ef der's eny doubts ob bein redy,
Down on mi knees I'm gwiner make it strate;
'N you kin laf'n sa dis darkey's skeery,
I'm luck er rabbit ka trus no mistake.

It may not be fur me de dogs er howlin,
But whin da howl mi pas I'm gwinter sweep;
'N I eant gwine ter bed no more dat ebenin,
Fur def sha kum 'n find dis pussun sleep.

Ders lots ob lurned people talkin bully,
'N sain dere ain't nufin in de sine;
But ef dey kum ur roun me wid der lunin,
I'm gester gwiner telum dey er lyin.

I'se got no time ter lisin to dor lexrin,
Fur da is jes tryin ter sho of smart;
Der eant no body don't keer how das lurned
Dat's got de sines al wiped clur from der hart.

Fur lunin neber takes fum man his habits—
It only smeers dem ober wid er stain;
'N kase he's lunid he is not er angel,
Dem sem ole trates is lurkin stell widin.