Part 2
My wife, oh! my wife, Was taught that game of cooking Some time early in her life. Its just as easy For her to cook a good meal As it is for you to ride In an automobile. It seems that it’s her pride To fix good eats, Such as roast pork and candied sweet tatoes, And apple pies, she can’t be beat. I can be so mad when I walk in, Lips all shot out, Hanging down on my chin, But the essence of that food Says why be thou so rude. Then henceforth and forever May thy grin. If you can keep from smiling When my wife makes apple pies, That’s more than I can do. She only makes that kind That melts on the tongue And passes by the thorax so easy, Till it makes the pallet hum. Telling the epiglottis That it don’t have to move Cause in this pie am plenty lard And sure am short and smooth. My Adam’s apple never works When I go to swallow; All the muscles in my neck Never touch my collar. Then it reaches the bottom of my heart And sounds the tune of joy And kills that word O’ Hunger When I’m penniless so often annoys. Now if you can keep from smiling When my wife makes apple pies That’s more than I can do.
E’ER JANUWAH DE 2
E’er sense I’s been bon things fo me goes powfull wrong E’er Januwah de 2. I sells my con and lose a farm E’er Januwah de 2. Good old liggon I don’t abuse but from me, it seems to oose E’er Januwah de 2. Now to drink is ganst my will, but luck fo me pulls don de hill E’er Januwah de 2. I puts my savins in my trunks, but things fo me just goes caflunk E’er Januwah de 2. An I married a dozen wives but dey seems to lose dey lives E’er Januwah de 2. Den ever year I have de flu and seems to me I’ll break in tu Leaven my bons dah to click Wid dem awful rhumaticks E’er Januwah de 2. De worsted sorrow I ebber had Is when mah swetark treats me bad E’er Januwah de 2.
FATE AND TIME
Fate taken away my world of goal Time sees that I grow old, Just these two words, which is time and fate, Where art thou love, that turned to hate?
AFTER DE TOUN HALL SUPPER
Lod ham mursy Mandy, yo mis it all When you let dat supper pass yo at de ole Toun Hall. Sah, they had one pison meal, Dat good ole broun possom an sweet taters, sush yo mouf! Would upsit yo pallet an’ tickel yo heels. An biscuit, hum, hum! don’t talk, I et so many I could hardly walk. When yo’d bustum open an dah ginter to steam An dat fresh country butter gist madum a dream. And dey had dem urly June peas dat was picked while da’s in blossom; But wait tell I tolger bout dat gravy dey had roun dat possom. It was gist a real medium lite broun, Hum youm, youm! when dey rised de lid yo could smill it all ober toun. An dat homade cake stood five layers hi, Mursy! an dat egg-custard, well, ’twould almost make ye cry. Den dey passed de water mellin an ice kream on de side, An’ when you backed away from dat table yo sho was satisfied. But you oder seen um a pitin on airs, Ole Ginn Jackson and Tildia Blairs, When dey’s asks tu et dey gaped like dey waned to fuse, Sain no we thank yo, we don’t carh fo, but to dat table dey gin to oose. Well sure yo woder almose bussed yo ribs When de blessen was said by ole Joe Tibs, Gist fo he started he ginner a real deep sie. And eber body bow dey heads, but on dem biscuits he kept one eye, Den he started, Good Lod! we turn thanks fo what bout to cieve, But I aint so buzy wid dis prawh dat I can’t see dat sister slipen biscuits up her sleeve. Amen.
WHAT WE OUGHT TO KNOW
God help a people that really has no flag, For on their present and future seems to heavily swag, ’Tis that awful burden of mystery, And oh! how painful that their heroism’s ne’er mentioned in history. Then go my brave people and make one of your own, It will show our mighty love and that we’re learning to stand alone. For years and years you’ve given your sons to this land of the noble and free, But maybe it’ll go down in this last war, though others we’ve failed to see, Now we have men among us, men of brain and might, Don’t dream of difficulty a few years back, for then all newspapers were white.
Now why not send our reporters on to the battlefield And let them follow our comrades so their great deeds cannot be shield, And when the shots and shells are flying Into the hearts of our loved ones dying Then God helps a people that try to help themselves That has the right love for each other laid on memory’s golden shelves. Just think of our great heroes that died that we may live, And think what it’s stealing from our children because history fails to give. I’ve even spoke of Honorable Douglass to boys of my race, Why they would ask me who was Douglass and amazingly look into my face, Oh! this would break my heart to think of that noble man, And there are others that should be in all history of the land.
SIE RANKENS AND HIS WIFE LIZZ
(Satisfied)
Git outer heah an goter wok, Uv all men’s yo lobes tu shirk. Don dan woken fo a dollah a dah, Don hard wok an’ git good pah. Sie, what’s de use larg or small, Yo de kinder umman gonner spend it all. Lizz, bleav me man, yo needs som pride. Sie, hum, yo shud worrah ef um satisfied. Lizz, sumer des dahs I’ll lost my mind, Den you’ll leff dis hos liker a bird a flyen, Cus I’ll be a devil an dat untied, I’ll sees how much den you am satisfied. Lizz, mussey me, dis world am ruff, An’ marrahed life I goter nuff. To don rite I really tried, Den gwon an leah me, um satisfied. Lizz, I’ll nuckel to yo nebber no mo, Cus I kin clean cars fo de ole Big Fo, I told um I’s coming, dey thinks I’s lied, Cus de wah yo acten man, I ain’t satisfied. Sie, somer des dahs I’ll slep a neaf de cool An’ yo’ll hab tu hich, drove, an’ cur dem mules Holin woe haw gee, come heah clide, I gus den honey yo’ll be satisfied. Lizz, tain’t no use in talkin to me, I’s made up my mind to let yo be. Whever yo sleep neaf de cool wom or hot I’ll took dis brom an broke yo not. Sie, den do it umman I aniter goner hide, Any ole thing soes yo satisfied. Lizz, dah yo am a giten all good Den com na kiss me, hum, I wish I wood Cus yo kinder mens I’s laid aside. Sie, ef dey all no yo like me, dey woun be satisfied.
LIEUTENANT RUFF
“Company Attion,” dats it snap dem heals rite agether And don’t be grumblen bout de rainy wedder, Fo dahs a few things I’s boun to mention. Yo pock out dat chest, Yo lazy thing, yo am like de rest. Gim me dem heads and eyes tu de front An’ don’t let me heah yo breave or grunt. Now in dis company dahs a singen aroun Dat some yo soldiers am a staen in town, Yo no dat am a breaken uv de rules, And awful bad it sounds. But let me ketch de ole ring leader Wid him I’ll broke de guard hous don. “At Ease!” quit dat trimblen at de neas, In de monen I’s goner call de roll An ebber liben body better hit de stroll. Ef dahs anybody daun anser tu dey name Well, de wah I’ll punshum, hit’ll be a shame. Sur Lieutenant! mah I speak, No you studers, an’ it’ll tuck yo a week. Now stop dat rolen dem eyes dah, Yo am de fello dey calls jack de bah. Does yo no yo am afoolen wid de hinges uv def An’ what yo am athinken yo am badly lef. Ress, a man kin talk tell he nely chokes, An’ Ress don’t mean fo you tu smoke. Drap dat cigarete, I bet I’ll blo dis company up yet, Now I want spoke bout de han solute, An’ you better bring me a press on all dem suits. In dis company dahs a loss uv pep An’ in aroun’ lebben werf yo am boun to crep. “Prade Ress!” Keep dat line neatly dressed, Looker a dah how yo’s holen dat gun, Gist like a man giten redy tu run. “Sholder Arms!” As yo wus, yo goter alarmed. Now what’s de madder widd dis coman? Change dat gun in de udder han In all my forty years I seen Yo bunch uv mens am mity green. Wake up now an sodger rite, Ef yo don’t da’ll be one awfull fite. Yo’ll taste de essnes uv my fist. “Company Attention!” Dah am de dinner bell yo am dismist.
THE PARSON’S RESOLUTION
Parson Johnson at his church on a New Year’s Eve Made a resolution he had up his sleeve, He knew the congregation had some inside information, But from where cometh he never knew, So the bells begin to ring and the whistles begin to blow Everybody kneeled in prayer, but Parson walked the flo.
CHORUS
Said, Lord! remove those evil spirits, that’s concealed in my trunk, In which so often I bathe my soul, but never was I drunk. Deliver me along a different path and close mine eyes even to an empty flask. And if temptation greets me along my way May Thee never let bad thoughts upon my conscience play.
Parson in his sermon, done oh! very well, He spoke of hypocrites, backsliders and infidels, He mentioned of St. Peter, who is writing the deeds we do And said when sliding back is untrue. He preached until his mind was a little overtaxed And knowing that bottle he had hid was the real old true facts.
ON SUNDAY MORN
Long side de road Where my heart overflowed, From de moanen uv a dove While I’s dreamin’ uv yo love On Sunday morn.
While I sit an thing uv yo, And de sun shines doun on de mistic’s dew, In dis beautiful place, I kin see yo sweet face On Sunday morn.
I love to roam de putty wile wood, It reminds me uv our dearest childhood, To listen to de birds And music widout word On Sunday morn.
Ef fate holds a day we’re to meet again To relieve my heart uv its aken pain, If it’s God’s decree I hope it will be On Sunday morn.
TOAST
Leave me not dear just now, The words I solemnly vow. Without your care This world I fear, I’ll take a glass of little bubbles Then life will be full of troubles.
MY LITTLE GIRL
Your smiles have faded into frowns, Your eyes have lost their glow of brown, Your lips are numb, hides your teeth of pearl, Why lose this beauty, my little girl?
The roses in the garden, are drooping and dying Since they know of your tears and sighing, This puts a crape o’er the whole wide world Bring back this beauty, my little girl.
I listen to the birds when I’m alone And they have lost their silver tone; Sometimes they’re mute, and feathers all curled, There’s another beauty lost, my little girl.
Now the sun came up but refused to shine, It was lost from your presence and love divine, The clouds drifted by, fastly in a whirl, I want you and the sunshine, my little girl.
There was a day that was dear to me When we sailed across loves bright sea, There we saw only water, sky and love And this was a blessing from our God above But soon our boat ran into a snirl, And gone was our beauty, my little girl.
A POET’S WIFE
Has a miserable life As he sits and thinks from sun to sun, There he dreams of the lakes and dells Her poor heart just beats by spells. But when he’s back from those beautiful scenes She looks in his eyes and the love-light gleams.
A FROSTY MORN
Spring’s early blossoms Are sleeping in their grave, Oh! how the sun did shine, For their lives it tried to save.
Just think of all their beauty And Jack Frost was the winner, Though in sight of the shining sun, He’s an awful sinner.
And while they lie asleep Beneath the chilly snow, We only dream of their tenderness And their fragrance we love so.
Just think of each little petal That was veiled with that all white shroud, And the miserable death they died, While the sun was behind the clouds.
But cheer up! all sad hearts, Mother nature is soon to bring Another collection of buds, For the ones stolen this spring.
THE LITTLE TOE DANCER
Down a little lane So beautifully shaded There I met the queen Of all little maidens.
Her hair was light And eyes sky-blue, She was out of the garden Of beauties that’s true.
She’d hold her little dress And dance to the breeze; She would do it with grace And musical ease.
On the tips of her toes She’d go around like a top, With such dancing, entrancing, I thought she’d ne’er stop.
Then she’d bow And give a sweet little smile, Pulling her finger Like a real little child.
But who only knows Whom this maiden can be, She’s my secret inspirer, And the world to me.
Sometimes when I write She stands by my side, If my poem’s of the ocean She rides on the tide.
Now little one My thoughts are dim, But with your guidance I worked with vim.
And now I must go, But my thoughts are of you. We’ll meet here next Sunday In the lane at two.
A SPARK OF LOVE
What will ease Two aching hearts That fate and time Has drifted apart? I’ll speak to this rose, For maybe it knows A gladness for her love That’s now reposed. Why did our minds With spirited souls, Let distance ring in Leaving our hearts grow cold? Now we sit and dream Though miles away, Neither can enjoy The blessings of the day. For a moment we’re happy Then sadness prevails, In our ears whistles memories Like a nightingale.
THE DEATH OF MRS. WORMSLEY
Down along Lincoln way, In our church on Sabbath day A shock to a father, sisters and brothers, When the Master called the Wormsley mother. Tear drops then began to fall, But this is the sting must come to us all, With a pitiful look, one at the other, To mourn the death of the Wormsley mother. Soon the alarm spread around, And hung a sad token o’er the town, The alarm traveled farther and farther, While the heaven’s doors opened to Wormsley mother.
EASTER ROSES
(To Mrs. Perry Honce McGee)
The roses you hold Though they are withering away, In their heart is my love And a brighter day.
Their petals now drooped But fragrance still sweet, My heart with trueness For you ever beats.
All the whole world And its treasures of gold Could tell no sweeter story Than these roses have told.
So fate could ne’er send No sweeter one, dear, Than you with your love And tender care.
EYES
Eyes that speak Are worth their weight in gold. For many a aching heart With love they console.
They have no words Like the trembling lips, Though glance by glance You can read their manuscript.
LAZY MULE
Gee, Gee, Yo better quit dat pestern me. Woe, tell I unkiber dis corn, A raskul like yo shud nebber ben bon, When de sun comes out yo am looken fo de cool An’ dat’s de powful acten uv a lazy mule.
Den dah’s de minet I gits de bridle Yo eyes am shut yo mine goes idle. Did yo had no risens or go to school--no. Ah, dat’s de rezen yo’s a lazy mule.
Now maybe tumorh I’ll drove yo tu town, And what I means yo gwine tu sweep de groun, Yo won’t drug along acten a fool, Yo’ll git up an muv, lazy mule.
Yo ets a wagon loder con an’ a bale o hay, Den yo leans er ginst de fence when yo goes tu bray, I recken som time you’ll ax fo a stool So you kin set doun yo lazy mule.
Den tu I recken I’ll trade yo off, Yo lon nekhog, yo ets de hay out de loft, Now yo kin git mad but I got er nu rule, Yo good for nothen lazy mule.
And when I goes tu mak dis deal, Yo run around de barn an’ kick up yo heal, Stah rit sid dat ole marh Brule Den de man won’t no he’s giten sich a lazy mule.
Ah, an when he gits yo you’ll cease tu balk, Fo he am goter a chalklin yo has tu walk, From dat dah on yo’ll be a liven tool Dat I’ll en yo actens uv er lazy mule.
An mah de dah come when yo cease tu breve Den yo’ll flot wid de angles fru de trees, An de buzzards will fite one mo duel An I’ll sah dah gones de essene uv dat lazy mule.
THROUGH THE MILL
If I can compose my way to success Then some time I’ll compose the rest, It will be of my childhood days Building mud houses for different plays.
Oh! I was bad and mischievous, too, And always looking for something to do, And when I found nothing I surely was sad, To be good very long would make me mad.
Though I longed to go to school, But I was poor and fate overruled, Then my mother, whom I love so dear, Passed away at the end of the year.
Then I fought this old, rough world, For I had lost my valued pearl. And now she sleeps beneath the sod; It brought me deep sorrow though it’s the will of God.
Just think of my mother, she guides me yet, And keeps me away from those sinful nets. All through life, from place to place, She ne’er let alcohol enter my taste.
And I’ve ne’er lived a day I want to live o’er, Unless it was school days which I could love more, Now I’ll thank God and that sweet little her, My life’s been rough, but never a blur.
A heart without love And nowhere to build, The mind wanders far, Leaving the soul to chill.
A DROOPING ROSE
She’ll always be Sweet like the breath you give In trying to console me. I hope you’re not leaving, ’Twould break my heart to think, I love you better than all the rest, For your petals are all over pink. Cheer up! little rose, With your petals looking mad, My sweet heart is dying, That’s why I’m looking sad. Oh! there is your companions And they are blooming all gay, But I wonder if you know My love is to pass away, But forever in my memory.
BECKER’S JEALOUSY
Lody, Lody, chile am yo heard de nues, Ole Ruby Gee go dem late stile shoes (no!) Yo noes dem kin wid de heel so high, An all de men’s jist looks when she goes by, Course she ain’t as swell as she thinks she am, ef all ports am true. She oder member, dat I noder, when she worned a boot an a shoe. Mursey me, I kin seed her now in church a gazen aroun Tryen to make eber body seer, so de nues, kin spread de town. But um goner taut alls in de quar jist how to act renoun An when Ole Ruby Gee comes in church we kin gider one pison frown. Oh! but I loves dat uman jist like I loves a snake, An I ain’t fogot how tonny she acted don at Ras Johnson’s wake. Eber time dey passed de coffee she’d tuck it an kinder linger, An put on de mostest airs, posen her little finger. Dar she sit an sip, an saped, An droped de hol cup in her lap. Mursey me, I laughed, tell my sides almos buss, Den we had one awful fuss, But bleave me, chile, I helt my groun, Ef things did look powful dark aroun. An ef it hadn’t ben fo waken uv de dead Dah ben one awful pullen uv de heads. Yo nows fo a minit I acted refine, But after dat she got a piece uv my mine. Den eber body look all eck mased, Sam Thomptson whispered to drunken Hays, What yo spose dey am fusen about. Well sur we broke up dat wake, widout a dout, Den all along de streets on our wah home ’twas a site befo de king, We was a gibberen an a gabberen, an bof un us sushed When dat troll-bell ring. Den we was quiet where de siety folks lived An we hardly drewed our breff, But when we’s out uv dat part uv toun I nocked her rite an lef.
TRUELET
Each day there is sunshine, Each day there are showers, Means some day in May Day We’ll be picking wild flowers.
INCH BY INCH
I’m yet in the path A jogging along, That’s leading to the righteous Away from the wrong.
We have not time To talk evil of others, For losing enemies To gain heavenly brothers.
Oh, Lord! May the day be long In which you have power To sound the heavenly gong.
We know this means Our last day, Bless us and save us In that land far away.
THE PLACE WHERE LITTLE MARY LIVES
Down a beautiful country road The roses in bloom and their perfume strewed, Oh! the joy it brought to my heart, ’Twas so tender, so sweet, I couldn ne’er depart From that place where little Mary lives.
Oh! that spot beside the hill Where nature and beauty can always build, Tells a story it really seems And will always be life’s sweetest dream Of that place where little Mary lives.
When she plucked and gave to me A beautiful rose in a manner so free, The heavenly breezes begin to blow And the tenderness through my heart did flow For that place where little Mary lives.
That was a day of God’s decree, And oh! no scenes could sweeter be, They soothed my heart and eased my pain, May the bright sunshine ne’er turn to rain, Down where little Mary lives.
But summer is soon to fade away, Followed by a cold winter day. The howling winds in the month of December, But that dear little rose I’ll always remember That come from the place where little Mary lives.
Now I see the blustery snow And it’s changed the scenes where I used to go, It’s all over white Though the stars are shining bright, How sad be that place where little Mary lives.
At times I think and really sigh To think of those roses that are sleeping nearby. But they will return To my heart that yearns, And for that place and its beauty Where little Mary lives.
A QUESTION
Why are great men’s lives Thrown into the mist? One’s who aim at the sky, Are found at the bottom of the list.
MR. FINK
I met a man The other day On a Chicago train. By the way His face was strange And very old, And holds a sad story Yet to be told. He says, my boy, We’ll have a drink. I said, no I thank you, Mr. Fink.
Then he gave a real deep sigh, Like a child about to cry. In a moment he raised and said, Then he stroked his old bald head, Patting me on my shoulder then. He faded his wrinkles into a grin, Now my lad, as I sit and think, May you never be like Mr. Fink.
My younger days had I refused, Now I’d stand in different shoes; I could throw this blanket off of me And this deadly sorrow that you see Then with a nod he solemnly winked, Try and remember Mr. Fink.
With a trembling he then relates Of his mighty love that’s turned to hate, He called a name that was once his wife. This was the pride that wrecked his life, Saying once I was rich, but now I beg. She’s the cause, a wretched old hag, Then there was love with a broken link Mournfully told by Mr. Fink.
GRAY HEADS