The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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| V
Vaudeville Skits
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
V
Vaudeville Skits
1
SERENADE AT THE CABIN
Oh, my little Sadie Sue, I's a-serenadin' you—
Fer you's de onliest lady-love o' mine;
De White Folk's dance done over, I has still a chune er two
Below your winder's mohnin'-glory-vine.
Your good ole mammy's gyarden is, fer shore, a ha'nted place,
Dis midnight whilse I's cropin' 'mongst de bloom;
Yit de moon dah 'bove de chimbly ain' no fairer dan de face
What's hidin' 'hind de curtain o' your room.
Fer you's de onliest lady-love o' mine;
De White Folk's dance done over, I has still a chune er two
2203
Your good ole mammy's gyarden is, fer shore, a ha'nted place,
Dis midnight whilse I's cropin' 'mongst de bloom;
Yit de moon dah 'bove de chimbly ain' no fairer dan de face
What's hidin' 'hind de curtain o' your room.
Chorus
Den wake, my colored blonde with eyes o' blue,
An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew;
Yo' hair ez fair an' fine
Ez de skeins o' June sunshine,
My little, light-complected Sadie Sue!
An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew;
Yo' hair ez fair an' fine
Ez de skeins o' June sunshine,
My little, light-complected Sadie Sue!
In de “Gran's” old dinin'-hall, playin' fer de White Folk's ball,
I watch deir pick o' ladies ez dey glide,
An' says I, “My Sadie Sue she 'ud shorely best you all
Ef she 'uz here a-waltzin' by my side!”
Den I laugh all to myse'f-like, ez I swipe de twangin' strings
An' shet my eyes in sweetest dreams o' you,—
Fer you're my heart's own music dat forever beats an' sings—
My soul's own serenade—my Sadie Sue!
I watch deir pick o' ladies ez dey glide,
An' says I, “My Sadie Sue she 'ud shorely best you all
Ef she 'uz here a-waltzin' by my side!”
Den I laugh all to myse'f-like, ez I swipe de twangin' strings
An' shet my eyes in sweetest dreams o' you,—
Fer you're my heart's own music dat forever beats an' sings—
My soul's own serenade—my Sadie Sue!
2204
Chorus
Den wake, my colored blonde with eyes o' blue,
An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew;
Yo' hair ez fair an' fine
Ez de skeins o' June sunshine,
My little, light-complected Sadie Sue!
An' lips ez red ez roses renshed with dew;
Yo' hair ez fair an' fine
Ez de skeins o' June sunshine,
My little, light-complected Sadie Sue!
2
CHUCK'S HOODOOS
Chuck's allus had de Hoodoos bad!—
Do what he kin to lose 'em,
Dey track dat coon, by sun er moon,
Des like dey cain't uxcuse 'im!
An' more he gyaurd 'em off, more hard
Hit 'pear-like dat they press 'im—
De onliest luck dey 'low ole Chuck
Is dis enough to 'stress 'im!
Do what he kin to lose 'em,
Dey track dat coon, by sun er moon,
Des like dey cain't uxcuse 'im!
An' more he gyaurd 'em off, more hard
Hit 'pear-like dat they press 'im—
De onliest luck dey 'low ole Chuck
Is dis enough to 'stress 'im!
He taken care—no matter where
He's walkin' 'long de street an'
See any ladder leanin' there,
Er cross-eyed man he's meetin'—
Dat eye o' his ketch wher' dey is,
An', quick as “scat,” Chuck's hittin'
De curb outside, an' watch wile-eyed
Fust lef'-han' place to spit in!
He's walkin' 'long de street an'
See any ladder leanin' there,
Er cross-eyed man he's meetin'—
Dat eye o' his ketch wher' dey is,
An', quick as “scat,” Chuck's hittin'
De curb outside, an' watch wile-eyed
Fust lef'-han' place to spit in!
2205
He's got toenails o' bats; an' snails
Shet hot in deir shell-houses
Wid sealin'-wax; an' little backs
O' turkles in his trouse's:
A moleskin-pu's'; an' possum's han'—
Des ever' charm an' wonder—
An' barber-chair o' shore hosshair—
An' hoss-shoe hangin' under!
Shet hot in deir shell-houses
Wid sealin'-wax; an' little backs
O' turkles in his trouse's:
A moleskin-pu's'; an' possum's han'—
Des ever' charm an' wonder—
An' barber-chair o' shore hosshair—
An' hoss-shoe hangin' under!
“An' yit,” says Chuck, “I got no luck:—
De Hoodoos still a-bafflin'
Dis po' ole saint what knows he ain't—
'Twix' shootin' craps an' rafflin'!
No overcoat—ner underwear,—
Right on de aidge o' winter
I's up aginst de wust layout
Dey's ever got me inter!”
De Hoodoos still a-bafflin'
Dis po' ole saint what knows he ain't—
'Twix' shootin' craps an' rafflin'!
No overcoat—ner underwear,—
Right on de aidge o' winter
I's up aginst de wust layout
Dey's ever got me inter!”
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |