Mistis, I r'al' y wish you‘ d hole A little conversation Wid my old Zekyl‘ bout his soul. Dat nigger's sitiwation
Is mons'us serious,‘ deed‘ n’‘ t is, ‘ Skusin’ he change dat co'se o’ his. Dat evil sinner‘ s sot he face Ginst ev'y wud I know;
Br'er Gabrul say, he‘ s fell from grace, An’ Hell is got him sho’! He don’ believe in sperits, ‘ Skusin’‘ t is out a jug!
Say‘ tain’ got no mo’ merits Den a ole half-cured lug; ‘ N’ dat white cat I see right late, One evelin’ nigh de grave-yard gate,
War n't nuttin’ sep some ole cat whar Wuz sot on suppin’ off old hyah. He‘ oont allow a rooster By crowin’ in folks’ do’,
Kin bring death dyah; and useter Say, he wish mine would crow. An’ he even say, a hin mout try, Sep woman-folks would git so spry,
An’ want to stick deeselves up den, An’ try to crow over de men. ‘ E say‘ t ain’ no good in preachin’; Dat niggers is sich fools —
Don’ know no mo’‘ bout teachin’ ‘ N white-folks does‘ bout mules; An’ when br'er Gabrul's hollered tell You mos’ kin see right into Hell,
An’ rambled Scriptures fit to bus’, Dat hard-mouf nigger‘ s wus an’ wus. ‘ E say quality ( dis is mainer ‘ N all Ise told you yit ) —
Says‘ tain’ no better‘ n‘ arf-strainer; An’ dat his master‘ ll git Good place in Heaven — po’ - white-folks, mark!— As y’ all whar come right out de ark;
An’ dat — now jes’ heah dis!— dat he, A po’ - white-folks’ nigger‘ s good as me! He‘ s gwine straight to de deble! An’ sarve him jes’ right, too!
He‘ s a outdacious rebel, Arter all Ise done do!— Ise sweat an’ arguified an’ blowed Over dat black nigger mo’
‘ N would‘ a’ teck a c'nal-boat load Over to Canyan sho’! Ise tried refection —‘ t warn’ no whar! Ise wrastled wid de Lord in pra'r;
Ise quoiled tell I wuz mos daid; Ise th'owed de spider at his haid — But he ole haid‘ t wuz so thick th'oo Hit bus’ my skillit spang in two.
You kin dye black hyah an’ meek it light; You kin tu'n de Ethiope's spots to white; You mout grow two or three cubics bigger — But you car n't onchange a po’ - white-folks’ nigger.
When you‘ s dwellin’ on golden harps an’ chunes, A po-white-foiks’ nigger's thinkin’ bout coons; An’ when you‘ s snifflin’ de heaven'y blossoms, A po’ - white-folks’ nigger‘ s studyin’‘ bout possums.
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