Wen de colo'ed ban’ comes ma'chin’ down de street,
Do n't you people stan’ daih starin’; lif yo’ feet!
Ai n't dey playin’? Hip, hooray!
Stir yo’ stumps an’ cleah de way,
Fu’ de music dat dey mekin’ can n't be beat.
Oh, de major man's a-swingin’ of his stick,
An’ de pickaninnies crowdin’ roun’ him thick;
In his go'geous uniform,
He‘ s de lightnin’ of de sto'm,
An’ de little clouds erroun’ look mighty slick.
You kin hyeah a fine perfo'mance w'en de white ban's serenade,
An’ dey play dey high-toned music mighty sweet,
But hit‘ s Sousa played in ragtime, an’ hit‘ s Rastus on Parade,
Wen de colo'ed ban’ comes ma'chin’ down de street.
Wen de colo'ed ban’ comes ma'chin’ down de street
You kin hyeah de ladies all erroun’ repeat:
“Ai n't dey handsome? Ai n't dey gran’?
Ai n't dey splendid? Goodness, lan’!
Wy dey's pu'fect f'om dey fo'heads to dey feet!”
An’ sich steppin’ to de music down de line,
‘ T ai n't de music by itself dat meks it fine,
Hit's de walkin’, step by step,
An’ de keepin’ time wid “Hep,”
Dat it mek a common ditty soun’ divine.
Oh, de white ban’ play hits music, an’ hit‘ s mighty good to hyeah,
An’ it sometimes leaves a ticklin’ in yo’ feet;
But de hea't goes into bus'ness fu’ to he'p erlong de eah,
Wen de colo'ed ban’ goes ma'chin’ down de street.