 | Harvest of Thoughts |  |
95
OUT AMONG UM
Say boys! you ought 'o been with me,
Las' night a week ago;
It wont do you no good to guess,
Because you does n't know.
I 'as out among the “Upper Tens,”
The “Upper Crust,” the “Creams;”
Them Tisdales, an' the Overstreets,
The Hunters an' the Jeems.
Las' night a week ago;
It wont do you no good to guess,
Because you does n't know.
I 'as out among the “Upper Tens,”
The “Upper Crust,” the “Creams;”
Them Tisdales, an' the Overstreets,
The Hunters an' the Jeems.
I had that bran new raglan on,
My patent leather shoes;
That fine broadcloth Prince Albert coat,
I bought down 'mong the Jews.
An' fumigated, like a rose,
You know I'as smellin' sweet:
The white fo'kes turned an' looked around,
As I swagged down the street.
My patent leather shoes;
That fine broadcloth Prince Albert coat,
I bought down 'mong the Jews.
An' fumigated, like a rose,
You know I'as smellin' sweet:
The white fo'kes turned an' looked around,
As I swagged down the street.
Of corse I wore my new silk hat,
That snow-white vest and tie;
An' don't you know, with all that on,
I hardly could get by.
That snow-white vest and tie;
An' don't you know, with all that on,
I hardly could get by.
96
Why don't you know where Bryants live?
I thought you lived in town;
Its way down old Wes' Seventh Street,
A square this side o' Brown.
Well, any-how they gave a ball,
An' it was something swell,
'Twas on their daughter 'Lizabeth,
So lis'en while I tell.
I thought you lived in town;
Its way down old Wes' Seventh Street,
A square this side o' Brown.
Well, any-how they gave a ball,
An' it was something swell,
'Twas on their daughter 'Lizabeth,
So lis'en while I tell.
Great Scotts! There was a hundred gals,
Of almost ev'ry shade;
An' each one dressed her level best,
It Made me sorter 'fraid.
But soon I shook away my fears,
An' let “old nerve” walk in,
Just then Miss 'Liza brought to me,
A host of lady friends.
Of almost ev'ry shade;
An' each one dressed her level best,
It Made me sorter 'fraid.
But soon I shook away my fears,
An' let “old nerve” walk in,
Just then Miss 'Liza brought to me,
A host of lady friends.
Miss Tisdale and Miss Carter,
Miss Buckner and Miss Jones;
Miss Artimiscie Martingale,
And Miss Priscilla Holmes.
Miss Buckner and Miss Jones;
Miss Artimiscie Martingale,
And Miss Priscilla Holmes.
97
Miss Simpson, Effie Lewis,
Miss Thomas, Susan Gray;
Them high-fa-lutin, Crosley gals,
An' Miss Leuvata Clay.
I met Miss Mandy Lewis,
Miss Cora Jackson too;
I met them Dalton sisters,
Rebecca, May an' Sue.
Miss Thomas, Susan Gray;
Them high-fa-lutin, Crosley gals,
An' Miss Leuvata Clay.
I met Miss Mandy Lewis,
Miss Cora Jackson too;
I met them Dalton sisters,
Rebecca, May an' Sue.
Met Elder Coleman's daughter,
That quiet kind o' gal;
I met the Hunter sisters,
Miss Gracie an' Miss Sal.
I met Miss Emma Overstreet,
Miss Lucas, Jane Divine;
Miss 'Liza turned an' said to me,
“These girls are friends of mine.”
That quiet kind o' gal;
I met the Hunter sisters,
Miss Gracie an' Miss Sal.
I met Miss Emma Overstreet,
Miss Lucas, Jane Divine;
Miss 'Liza turned an' said to me,
“These girls are friends of mine.”
I chatted freely with them all,
For they were looking well;
That's why I used them great big words,
Which I could never spell.
For they were looking well;
That's why I used them great big words,
Which I could never spell.
98
An' such another feast they had,
I never saw before;
A table filled with every thing,
And stretched from door to door.
Light-bread an' soda biscuits,
Caned fruits of ev'ry kind;
Mince pies an' chicken-dumplins
An' Elder-berry-wine.
I never saw before;
A table filled with every thing,
And stretched from door to door.
Light-bread an' soda biscuits,
Caned fruits of ev'ry kind;
Mince pies an' chicken-dumplins
An' Elder-berry-wine.
Big yallah sweet potatoes,
Well soaked in 'possum grease;
I wish you could o' witnessed,
The good things at that feast;
Sweet cordial nuts an' candies,
Good butter-milk an' cream,
You ought 'o seen us colored fo'kes,
Around that table teem.
Well soaked in 'possum grease;
I wish you could o' witnessed,
The good things at that feast;
Sweet cordial nuts an' candies,
Good butter-milk an' cream,
You ought 'o seen us colored fo'kes,
Around that table teem.
Elder Dawson asked the blessin'
An' then we all pitched in;
An' what we did to Bryant's grub.
It was a mighty sin.
An' then we all pitched in;
An' what we did to Bryant's grub.
It was a mighty sin.
99
With jokes an' merry laughter,
The house was in a hum;
'Cause ev'ry one invited,
Was more than pleased to come;
Till Jackson Jones through courtesy,
Down from his seat did stoop;
To pick up Mandy's napkin,
An' spilled that bowl of soup.
The house was in a hum;
'Cause ev'ry one invited,
Was more than pleased to come;
Till Jackson Jones through courtesy,
Down from his seat did stoop;
To pick up Mandy's napkin,
An' spilled that bowl of soup.
It landed right on Jackson's head,
An' how that soup did spatter!
Miss Mandy sprang to save her dress,
The girls cried: “What's the matter?”
That oyster soup was flyin.'
On broadcloth an' on silk,
Poor Jackson's plight remind me,
Of a fly in butter-milk.
An' how that soup did spatter!
Miss Mandy sprang to save her dress,
The girls cried: “What's the matter?”
That oyster soup was flyin.'
On broadcloth an' on silk,
Poor Jackson's plight remind me,
Of a fly in butter-milk.
There were oysters down his collar,
An' soup all in his hair;
His party suit was ruined,
I could see it then an' there.
An' soup all in his hair;
His party suit was ruined,
I could see it then an' there.
100
Mrs Bryant an' the waiters,
Tried to make the blunder straight;
I could n't eat another thing,
That laid upon my plate;
I was so choked with laughter,
I could n't look around;
An' lookin' solemn in my plate,
My face put on a frown.
Tried to make the blunder straight;
I could n't eat another thing,
That laid upon my plate;
I was so choked with laughter,
I could n't look around;
An' lookin' solemn in my plate,
My face put on a frown.
Poor Jackson's head was scalded,
An' his eyes was lookin' red;
For you see, that big bowl bu'sted,
When it landed on his head.
Atlas' the big feast ended,
An' the dishes cleared away;
Jim Lewis tuned his fiddle,
An' how that coon did play!
An' his eyes was lookin' red;
For you see, that big bowl bu'sted,
When it landed on his head.
Atlas' the big feast ended,
An' the dishes cleared away;
Jim Lewis tuned his fiddle,
An' how that coon did play!
We danced till almos' mornin'
I took Miss Tisdale home;
She's goin' to give a party,
An' told me I must come.
I took Miss Tisdale home;
She's goin' to give a party,
An' told me I must come.
| Harvest of Thoughts | |