University of Virginia Library


115

MR. RABBIT RUN FUR—MR. RABBIT RUN FAS'


117

Mr. Rabbit run fur—Mr. Rabbit run fas',
Kaze dey scuzen'd him er givin' de gals some sass.
Wid der fingers in der years, dey stomped der feet,
Wid, “Des lis'n at dat! Is you ever hear de beat?”
Yit all in de worl' dat Brer Rabbit say,
Wuz “Howdy, my honies! Whichaway—whichaway?
Youer gittin' too ol' fer ter be so gay—
I b'lieve in my soul youer turnin' gray!”
Mr. Owl, he seed a big star shoot,
An' he blow his horn wid a toot-toot-toot!

118

Mr. Fox come along wid a han' ter his year,
An' de gals, dey holler, “Brer Fox, run here!”
Mr. Fox, he grin an' show his tush—
“Please come an' make Brer Rabbit hush;
We wa'n't doin' nothin' but dancin' on de grass,
An' here he come wid his mouf full er sass.”
Mr. Owl, he seed a n'er star shoot,
An' he make his horn go toot-toot-toot!
Mr. Fox scratch hisse'f behime de year,
Wid a “Tut-tut-tut! What's dis I hear?”
An' de gals dey say, “You hears de trufe!”
An' den Mr. Fox, wid a wiff-waff-woof!
Try ter swaller Brer Rabbit, but he swaller'd de a'r;
He snapped, he did, but he never totch a ha'r,

119

An' a mighty good reason—Brer Rabbit wa'n't dar!
One star, two stars, three stars shoot,
An' ol' Mr. Owl blow toot-toot-toot!
Mr. Rabbit, fum behime de mullein stalk,
Holler, “Ladies all, I'm gwine ter take a walk:
I wuz makin' fun, but I'm sorry I spoke,
Fer all I say wa'n't nothin' but a joke.”
“La, Brer Rabbit! an' whyn't you tell us?
Kaze we likes you better dan de yuther fellers.”
Mr. Rabbit, he laugh an' wiggle his smellers,
An' “De hoss-apple falls long 'fo' it mellers!”
Two stars, three stars, four stars shoot—
Mr. Owl, he laugh, an' toot-toot-toot!
Mr. Rabbit, he say, “Youer in yo' prime;
I'd 'a' tol' you dat, but you ain't gi' me time.”

120

Miss Meadows, she say, “Don't lose yo' chance,
Less go ter my house an' all have a dance.”
Mr. Rabbit, he laugh an' shake his head,
“What mo' kin you say when all is said?
I'm de one dat's gray—Brer Fox is red;
I kin be my own frien' when all is fled.
I'm gwine fer ter git some calamus root,
An' lis'en ter de Whipperwill a-playin' on his flute—
Mr. Whipperwill—he won't stay still—
Mr. Whipperwill, a-playin' on his flute!