THE REAL QUESTION

  Folks is talkin’ ’bout de money, ‘bout de silvah an’ de gold;
  All de time de season ‘s changin’ an’ de days is gittin’ cold. 
  An’ dey ‘s wond’rin’ ’bout de metals, whethah we’ll have one er two. 
  While de price o’ coal is risin’ an’ dey ‘s two months’ rent dat ’s due.

  Some folks says dat gold ’s de only money dat is wuff de name,
  Den de othahs rise an’ tell ’em dat dey ought to be ashame,
  An’ dat silvah is de only thing to save us f’om de powah
  Of de gold-bug ragin’ ‘roun’ an’ seekin’ who he may devowah.

  Well, you folks kin keep on shoutin’ wif yo’ gold er silvah cry,
  But I tell you people hams is sceerce an’ fowls is roostin’ high. 
  An’ hit ain’t de so’t o’ money dat is pesterin’ my min’,
  But de question I want answehed ‘s how to get at any kin’!

JILTED

  Lucy done gone back on me,
    Dat’s de way wif life. 
  Evaht’ing was movin’ free,
    T’ought I had my wife. 
  Den some dahky comes along,
  Sings my gal a little song,
  Since den, evaht’ing’s gone wrong,
    Evah day dey ’s strife.

  Did n’t answeh me to-day,
    Wen I called huh name,
  Would you t’ink she ‘d ac’ dat way
    Wen I ain’t to blame? 
  Dat ’s de way dese women do,
  Wen dey fin’s a fellow true,
  Den dey ‘buse him thoo an’ thoo;
    Well, hit ’s all de same.

  Somep’n’s wrong erbout my lung,
    An’ I ’s glad hit ’s so. 
  Doctah says ’at I ’ll die young,
    Well, I wants to go! 
  Whut ‘s de use o’ livin’ hyeah,
  Wen de gal you loves so deah,
  Goes back on you clean an’ cleah—­
    I sh’d like to know?

THE NEWS

  Whut dat you whisperin’ keepin’ f’om me? 
  Don’t shut me out ’cause I ‘s ol’ an’ can’t see. 
  Somep’n’s gone wrong dat ‘s a-causin’ you dread,—­
  Don’t be afeared to tell—­Whut! mastah dead?

  Somebody brung de news early to-day,—­
  One of de sojers he led, do you say? 
  Did n’t he foller whah ol’ mastah lead? 
  How kin he live w’en his leadah is dead?

  Let me lay down awhile, dah by his bed;
  I wants to t’ink,—­hit ain’t cleah in my head:—­
  Killed while a-leadin’ his men into fight,—­
  Dat ’s whut you said, ain’t it, did I hyeah right?

  Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in de fiel’? 
  Lif me up some,—­dah, jes’ so I kin kneel. 
  I was too weak to go wid him, dey said,
  Well, now I ‘ll—­fin’ him—­so—­mastah is dead.

  Yes, suh, I ‘s comin’ ez fas’ ez I kin,—­
  Twas kin’ o’ da’k, but hit ’s lightah agin: 
  P’omised yo’ pappy I ’d allus tek keer
  Of you,—­yes, mastah,—­I ’s follerin’,—­hyeah!

CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTATION

  It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu’ a mighty gloomy day—­
  Bofe de weathah an’ de people—­not a one of us was gay;
  Cose you ’ll t’ink dat ’s mighty funny ’twell I try to mek hit cleah,
  Fu’ a da’ky ’s allus happy when de holidays is neah.