My Polly Ann
A. W. AUNER, Song Publisher, Philadelphia,Pa.
My Polly Ann.
At the fancy ball the other night,
My Polly Ann and me
Were dressed to death in all our best,
So happy, light and free.
When Pompey Smash, a colored moak,
Came rushing in the hall,
And swore that none should dance with Poll,
There, at the fancy ball.
Now, strike up the fiddle, and let the banjo ring,
Then join in the chorus while merrily we’ll sing,
Let the darkies quarrel, and emigrate to France,
I’m a happy darkie, oh! with this breakdown dance.
My Polly Ann she looked at me,
And then she gave a sigh,
While Pompey Smash he shook his fist,
With vengeance in his eye;
I kissed my hand to Polly Ann,
The leader gave a call,
Away went Pomp, with Polly Ann,
The gayest of them all.
Soon Pomp and Poll were married;
Pomp cleaned the gemmen’s clothes,
And Polly shouted “Hot corn!” where
The summer breezes blows;
But now they have retired,
And you’ll see them here no more,
’Cause Pompey’s made his fortune,
And has gone to Baltimore.
A. W. AUNER, SONG PUBLSHER, CARD & JOB PRINTER, PHILADELPHIA,PA.