De pitifullest truf dar is fur folks ter steddy out,
Is when er critter's hones', dar's sumpen else erbout;
Hit started wid de fust man dat de good Lord ebber made,
Erfore he w'ar er fig-leaf, er ebber was erfraid.
He tole hit 'bout de apple,—'Nias tole hit 'bout de lan',
An' so on, down ter you an' me, de fac' is 'boun' ter stan',—
When folks brags so mighty on deyse'fs, des sarch dem sanctified,
Case dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
De cap hit fit de white man and hit fit de nigger too;
Des here dey rights is ekil,—I'se tellin' what is true;
Fur de Jedge dat do de 'cidin' know de business dat is his,
An' he gwine ter size, not what you got, but size up what you is.
De big man in he kerridge lookin' mighty brave an' gran',
Des lack he own de hull yeth an' de fulness er de lan';
But he mighty po' dar somers, 'spite er fine close, 'spite er pride,
'Case dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
Dey bow down ter de 'zorter an' he smile an' look erroun',
Lack he des too good fur nuffin but ter preach an' 'zort an' 'spoun',
But dar's sumpen on his cornscience too, er chicken errer horg,
An' he got ter come ter jedgment, umble es er yaller dorg.
De 'omenses dey come in too,—dey got ter b'ar dey part,—
Long tongues is 'cute, an' empty haids is lack er rattlin' cart;
An' S'phiry she were mighty clost ter 'Nias when he lied,—
Fur dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
I hain't er hittin' folks dat's got er little bit er sin,
Dey kin tie up in er handkercher, an' easy keep hit in;
But dem dat try ter tote erroun' er great big las' year's shoat,
An' do lack dey hain't got hit dar,—hit mek me t'ar my coat!
Is when er critter's hones', dar's sumpen else erbout;
Hit started wid de fust man dat de good Lord ebber made,
Erfore he w'ar er fig-leaf, er ebber was erfraid.
He tole hit 'bout de apple,—'Nias tole hit 'bout de lan',
An' so on, down ter you an' me, de fac' is 'boun' ter stan',—
When folks brags so mighty on deyse'fs, des sarch dem sanctified,
Case dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
De cap hit fit de white man and hit fit de nigger too;
Des here dey rights is ekil,—I'se tellin' what is true;
Fur de Jedge dat do de 'cidin' know de business dat is his,
An' he gwine ter size, not what you got, but size up what you is.
De big man in he kerridge lookin' mighty brave an' gran',
Des lack he own de hull yeth an' de fulness er de lan';
But he mighty po' dar somers, 'spite er fine close, 'spite er pride,
'Case dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
Dey bow down ter de 'zorter an' he smile an' look erroun',
Lack he des too good fur nuffin but ter preach an' 'zort an' 'spoun',
But dar's sumpen on his cornscience too, er chicken errer horg,
An' he got ter come ter jedgment, umble es er yaller dorg.
De 'omenses dey come in too,—dey got ter b'ar dey part,—
Long tongues is 'cute, an' empty haids is lack er rattlin' cart;
An' S'phiry she were mighty clost ter 'Nias when he lied,—
Fur dey's all got sumpen dat dey wanter hide.
I hain't er hittin' folks dat's got er little bit er sin,
Dey kin tie up in er handkercher, an' easy keep hit in;
But dem dat try ter tote erroun' er great big las' year's shoat,
An' do lack dey hain't got hit dar,—hit mek me t'ar my coat!