Say, darkies, hab you seen de massa, wid de muffstash on his
face,
Go long de road some time dis mornin', like he gwine to leab
de place?
He seen a smoke way up de ribber, whar de Linkum gunboats
lay;
He took his hat, and lef' berry sudden, and I spec' he's run
away!
De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho!
It mus' be now de kindom coming, an' de year ob Jubilo!
He six foot one way, two foot tudder, and he weigh tree
hundred pound,
His coat so big, he couldn't pay the tailor, an' it won't go
halfway round.
He drill so much dey call him Cap'n, an' he got so drefful
tanned,
I spec' he try an' fool dem Yankees for to tink he's
contraband.
De darkeys feel so lonesome libbing in de loghouse on de
lawn,
Dey move dar tings into massa's parlor for to keep it while
he's gone.
Dar's wine an' cider in de kitchen, an' de darkeys dey'll
have some;
I s'pose dey'll all be cornfiscated when de Linkum sojers
come.
De obserseer he make us trouble, an' he dribe us round a
spell;
We lock him up in de smokehouse cellar, wid de key trown in
de well.
De whip is lost, de han'cuff broken, but de massa'll hab his
pay;
He's ole enough, big enough, ought to known better dan to
went an' run away.
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