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,
Warn'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.