Dixey's Land. No. 2

J. H. JOHNSON, SONG PURBLISHER, CARD & JOBPRINTER No, 7 North Tenth St., above Market, PHILADELPHIA.

Dixey’s Land. No.2.

I wish I was in the land of cotton,
‘Cimmon seed an’ sandy bottom—

In Dixie’s Land whar I was born in.
Early on one frosty mornin’,

Den I whish I was in Dixie,
Hooray—Hooray!
In Dixie’s Land—we’ll took our stand,
To lib and die in Dixie,
Away—away—away down south in Dixie.

Old missus marry Will-de-weaber,
William was a gay a deceaber,

When he put his arms around’er
He look as fierce as a forty pounder,

His face was sharp like a butcher’s cleaber,
But that did’nt seem to greab’er;

Will ran away—missus took a decline oh,
Her face was de color ob bacon-rhine, oh,

While missus libbed, she libbed in clober
When she died, she died all ober:

How could she act such a foolish part,
As to marry a man that would break her heart,

Here’s a health to the next old missus,
And all de gals dat want to kiss us;

Now if you want to dribe ‘way sorrow,
Come an’ hear this to-morrow,

Sugar in de gourd, an’ stonny batter,
De white’s grow fat, an’ de niggar’s fatter,

Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,
To Dixie’s Land I’m bound to trabble,