Long ez he’s er hoein’, Diggin’ in de san’, Bress yo’ soul, say, mistah, He am jes’ de man. Let him git de money Cumin’ mos’ too fas’, White fo’ks git to skeemin’, Say it mussen’ las’. LULLABY. Pickahninny, Pickahninny, Close yo’ little eyes. Evenin’ am er ’proachin’, Tells yo’ sleep an’ quit yo’ cries, Mammy’s gwine to keep All o’ de boogahman erway— Gyahd her little pickahninny Till de cumin’ day. Pickahninny, pickahninny, Sleep an’ take yo’ res; Sleep wid all de cumfort Ub de birdies in dey nes’. When de sun’s dun sinkin’, In de eas’ begin to rise, Mammy’s little pickahninny Den kin ope’ its eyes. Pickahninny, pickahninny, Mammy’s little love, May de gyahdin’ angels Hubbah ’roun’ de fum erbove. Wid dey sof’en sweeten whispahs Keep de lull’d er sleep, While de weary lonely hours Slowly onward creep. Pickahninny, pickahninny, Keep er fas’ er sleep, While de weary, lonely hours Slowly onward creep. Day will soon be breakin’, Sun er creepin’ ’cross de skies, Mammy’s little pickahninny Den kin ope it’s eyes. THE ECSTASY OF UNCLE JOE. Feel lak shoutin’ hallelooyah, Habben’ got an’ ache ner pain. Los’ dat kahnsahn roomertism, No mo’ hobblin’ wid dat cane. Things look lak de Eden Gawden, Hardly bleeb dis am mah se’f. Dis am bliss in ebbry ’ticklah, Tickles mah ol’ soul to def. Dat snake oil sho’ did de bizzness, Geddah wid dem herbs an’ roots. Bress de Lawd! umph! grayshus Mahstah! Hardly stay in mah ol’ boots! Go ’way, chillun, let yo’ daddy Hab de place all to hisse’f. Kaze de ol’ man’s jollyfyin’ An’ he’s drawin’ bran’ new bref. Dis ol’ frame am no mo’ shaky, Doh I is mos’ eighty-eight. Dem ol’ jints am jes’ ez soople’s When Ise in mah youthful state. Feel lak lay’n erside mah ’liggun, Once mo’ dance de buck an’ wing. Is dah ’mong yo’ doubtin’ Thomas, Think dat I kaint do dat thing? Oh, I ustah cut it, chillun, When ol’ fiddlin’ Peet was ’roun’. Had all o’ de white an’ brac’ fo’ks Beat, dat lived er bout de town. An’ yo bet he was er fiddlah, Make yo’ dance yo’se’f leg bowl. Played de sweetes’ kine o’ ditties Dat jes’ ’joiced yo’ berry soul. Look hyeah, Rastus! drap dat fiddle, Doan’ yo’ sot dat thing er chune. Ef yo’ do, in spite mah ’liggun, Make out me er dancin’ coon. See, de debbil’s allus skeemin’ Fo’ to make de Chris’shuns sin. Usein’ chillun in his bizzness, Dat’s de way he takes to win. Now, he put it in li’l Rastus Fo’ to git dat fiddle down. Tho’t I kooden’ r’sist tem’tayshun Fo’ to dance at its ol’ soun’.