Classic Poem

DERE was an old nigger, and him name was Uncle Tom,
And him tale was rather slow;
Me try to read de whole, but me only read some,
Because me found it no go.
Den hang up de auther Mrs. Stowe,
And kick de volume wid your toe—
And dere's no more public for poor Uncle Tom,
He am gone whar de trunk—lining go.
Him tale dribbles on and on widout a break,
Till you hab no eyes for to see;
When I reached Chapter 4 I had got a headache,
So I had to let Chapter 4 be.
Den hang up, etc.
De demand one fine morning for Uncle Tom died,
De tears down Mrs. Stowe's face ran like rain;
For she knew berry well, now dey'd laid him on de shelf,
Dat she'd neber get a publisher again.
Den hang up, etc.