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The Book of American Negro Poetry eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 109 pages of information about The Book of American Negro Poetry.

DE CUNJAH MAN

O chillen, run, de Cunjah man,
Him mouf ez beeg ez fryin’ pan,
Him yurs am small, him eyes am raid,
Him hab no toof een him ol’ haid,
Him hab him roots, him wu’k him trick,
Him roll him eye, him mek you sick—­
  De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
  O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Him hab ur ball ob raid, raid ha’r,
Him hide it un’ de kitchen sta’r,
Mam Jude huh pars urlong dat way,
An’ now huh hab ur snaik, de say. 
Him wrop ur roun’ huh buddy tight,
Huh eyes pop out, ur orful sight—­
  De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
  O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Miss Jane, huh dribe him f’um huh do’,
An’ now huh hens woan’ lay no mo’;
De Jussey cow huh done fall sick,
Hit all done by de Cunjah trick. 
Him put ur root un’ ’Lijah’s baid,
An’ now de man he sho’ am daid—­
  De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
  O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

Me see him stan’ de yudder night
Right een de road een white moon-light;
Him toss him arms, him whirl him ‘roun’,
Him stomp him foot urpon de groun’;
De snaiks come crawlin’, one by one,
Me hyuh um hiss, me break an’ run—­
  De Cunjah man, de Cunjah man,
  O chillen, run, de Cunjah man!

UNCLE EPH’S BANJO SONG

Clean de ba’n an’ sweep de flo’,
   Sing, my bawnjer, sing! 
We’s gwine ter dawnce dis eb’nin’ sho’,
  Ring, my bawnjer, ring! 
Den hits up de road an’ down de lane,
Hurry, niggah, you miss de train;
De yaller gal she dawnce so neat,
De yaller gal she look so sweet,
  Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

De moon come up, de sun go down,
  Sing, my bawnjer, sing! 
De niggahs am all come f’um town,
  Ring, my bawnjer, ring! 
Den hits roun’ de hill an’ froo de fiel’—­
Lookout dar, niggah, doan’ you steal! 
De milyuns on dem vines am green,
De moon am bright, O you’ll be seen,
  Ring, my bawnjer, ring!

OL’ DOC’ HYAR

Ur ol’ Hyar lib in ur house on de hill,
He hunner yurs ol’ an’ nebber wuz ill;
He yurs dee so long an’ he eyes so beeg,
An’ he laigs so spry dat he dawnce ur jeeg;
He lib so long dat he know ebbry tings
‘Bout de beas’ses dat walks an’ de bu’ds dat sings—­
                        Dis Ol’ Doc’ Hyar,
                        Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

He doctah fur all de beas’ses an’ bu’ds—­
He put on he specs an’ he use beeg wu’ds,
He feel dee pu’s’ den he look mighty wise,
He pull out he watch an’ he shet bofe eyes;
He grab up he hat an’ grab up he cane,
Den—­“blam!” go de do’—­he gone lak de train,
                        Dis Ol’ Doc’ Hyar,
                        Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

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