I wish I was in de land of cotton,
‘Cimmon seed’ and sandy bottom—
In Dixie’s Land whar I was born in,
Early on one frosty morning.
Old missus marry Will-de-weaber,
William was a gay 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 didn’t 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 clobber,
When she died, she died all ober;
How could she act such a foolish part,
As to marry a man dat would break her heart.
Here’s a health to de next old missue,
And all de gale dat wants to kiss us,
Now if you want to dribe ‘way sorrow,
Come an’ hear this to-morrow.
Sugar in de gourd, an’ stony batter,
De white’s grow fat, an’ de nigger’s faster:
Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble,
To Dixie’s Land I’m bound to trabble.