De ole bee make de honey-comb,
De young bee make de honey,
De niggers make de cotton en co’n,
En de w’ite folks gits de money.
De raccoon he’s a cu’us man,
He never walk twel dark,
En nuthin’ never ’sturbs his mine,
Twel he hear ole Bringer bark.
De raccoon totes a bushy tail,
De ’possum totes no ha’r,
Mr. Rabbit, he come skippin’ by,
He ain’t got none ter spar’.
Monday mornin’ break er day,
W’ite folks got me gwine,
But Sat’dy night, w’en de sun goes down,
Dat yaller gal’s in my mine.
Fifteen poun’ er meat a week,
W’isky for ter sell,
Oh, how can a young man stay at home,
Dem gals dey look so well?
Met a ’possum in de road—
Brer ’Possum, whar you gwine?
I thank my stars, I bless my life,
I’m a huntin’ for de muscadine.