Fu’ de peace o’ my eachin’ heels, set down;
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’.
Don’ you see how dat melody stuhs me up
An’ baigs me to tek to de flo’?
You knows I‘ s a Christian, good an’ strong;
I wusship f'om June to June;
My pra'ahs dey ah loud an’ my hymns ah long:
I baig you don’ fiddle dat chune.
I‘ s a crick in my back an’ a misery hyeah
Whaih de j'ints‘ s gittin’ ol’ an’ stiff,
But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o’ my youf;
W'y, I‘ s suttain I noticed a w'iff.
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’, my chile,
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’;
I‘ ll git up an’ taih up dis groun’ fu’ a mile,
An’ den I‘ ll be chu'ched fu’ it, sho’.
Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo’, I say,
An’ fiddle it loud an’ fas':
I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o’ my sin;
De p'esent‘ s gone back to de pas’.
I‘ ll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;
I knows how de backslidah feels;
So fiddle it on‘ twell de break o’ de day
Fu’ de sake o’ my eachin’ heels.