I know’d a darkie, and his name it was Joe;
I know it was, for he once told me so:
He used to hoe and dig up all the land;
But now he says that WORK IS CONTRABAND.
He darank skimm’d milk, from morn ‘till night;
Somebody said that it would make him white;
But let him drink until he gets his till.
He’s always bound to be a darkie still?
His color will stick, but that’s not a sin:
To wash it off, you’re compell’d to rub it in;
For, darkie will be darkie, as I’ve said before.
To the end of the world, and for TWO DAYS more!
The black man is a very curious thing:
His Jay-bird heel can shuffle, cut, and wing;
But fill him up with gin, and lay him in the shade,
He’ll work very well, ESPECIALLY if HE’S MADE!