free web hosting | website hosting | Business Web Hosting | Free Website Submission | shopping cart | php hosting

lee's songbook

r



The Razor Strop Man
By J.W. Turner
1858

In passing thro' State Street I saw a great crowd ;
I heard a man shouting away very loud.
I thought that some one had been guilty of theft
'Till I heard him sing out "I've a few more left!"
A few more left, A few more left, 
I heard him sing out, "I've a few more left!"

Thinks I to myself "What does 'few more left' mean?" 
The man's either crazy or terrible green;
So I hasten'd with eyes glaring wide as I ran
And beheld in great wonder the "Razor Strop Man."
Razor Strop Man, Razor Strop Man,
I beheld in great wonder the Razor Strop Man

He was spinning poetical rhyme by the yard -
Had Shakespeare been living 'twould astonish the bard -
And up steps a green horn, says he, "Well, I swan
If that an't the great living 'Razor Strop Man'!"

"Come walk up here, gentlemen, now is your time 
To get a good strop - I will warrant them prime;
'Twill sharpen your razor as natr'al as life,
E'en should they be dull as an old oyster knife!"

In a short time, however, he came to a stop;
I says "Mister, how much do you ask for a strop?"
Says he, "Twenty-five cents," and soon I began
To trade with the wonderful Razor Strop Man.

I handled my pockets and pulled out the cash 
And ended our bargain as quick as a flash;
Then left him, and soon 'round the corner I cleft
To the tune of the walk up - "I've a few more left!"

My subject, if ever ye chance for to read,
If you like it, my pleasure o naught can exceed;
And should I ne'er be of my genius bereft,
Like the razor strop man, I've a few more left.

From 100 COMIC SONGS
Published By Oliver Ditson & Co.
1858



Rejoice, The Lord Is King!

Rejoice, the Lord is King! Your Lord and King adore;
Mortals give thanks and sing, and triumph evermore;
Lift up your heart, lift up your voice;
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

Jesus, the Savior, reigns, the God of truth and love;
When He had purged our stains He took His seat above;
Lift up your heart, lift up your voice;
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

His kingdom cannot fail, He rules over earth and heaven,
The keys of death and hell are to our Jesus given;
Lift up your heart, lift up your voice;
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

He sits at God's right hand till all His foes submit,
And bow to His command, and fall beneath His feet:

Lift up your heart, lift up your voice;
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

He all His foes shall quell, shall all our sins destroy,
And every bosom swell with pure seraphic joy;
Lift up your heart, lift up your voice,
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

Rejoice in glorious hope! Jesus the Judge shall come,
And take His servants up to their eternal home.
We soon shall hear th' archangel's voice;
The trump of God shall sound, rejoice!


RICHMOND IS A HARD ROAD TO TRAVEL

Daniel Decatur Emmett

Would you like to hear my song? I'm afraid it's rather long -
Of the famous "On to Richmond" double trouble;
Of the half-a-dozen trips and half-a-dozen slips,
And the very latest bursting of the bubble.
'Tis pretty hard to sing and, like a round, round ring,
'Tis a dreadful knotty puzzle to unravel;
Though all the papers swore, when we touched Virginia's shore,
That Richmond was a hard road to travel.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
Richmond is a hard road to travel;
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe.

First, McDowell, bold and gay, set forth the shortest way,
By Manassas in the pleasant summer weather;
But unfortunately ran on a Stonewall, foolish man,
And had a "rocky journey" altogether.
And he found it rather hard to ride o'er Beauregard,
And Johnston proved a deuce of a bother;
And 'twas clear beyond a doubt that he didn't like the route,
And a second time would have to try another.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For Manassas is a hard road to travel;
Manassas gave us fits, and Bull Run made us grieve,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!

Next came the Wooly-Horse, with an overwhelming force,
To march down to Richmond by the Valley;
But he couldn't find the road, and his "onward movement" showed
His campaigning was a mere shilly-shally.
Then Commissary Banks, with his motley foreign ranks,
Kicking up a great noise, fuss, and flurry,
Lost the whole of his supplies, and with tears in his eyes,
From the Stonewall ran away in a hurry.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For the Valley is a hard road to travel;
The Valley wouldn't do and we all had to leave,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!

Then the great Galena came, with her portholes all aflame,
And the Monitor that famous naval wonder;
But the guns at Drewry's Bluff gave them speedily enough,
The loudest sort of reg'lar Rebel thunder.
The Galena was astonished and the Monitor admonished -
Our patent shot and shell were mocked at,
While the dreadful Naugatuck, by the hardest kind of luck,
Was knocked into an ugly cocked hat.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For James River is a hard road to travel;
The gunboats gave it up in terror and despair,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I declare!

Then McClellan followed soon, both with spade and balloon
To try the Peninsular approaches;
But one and all agreed that his best rate of speed
Was no faster than the slowest of "slow coaches."
Instead of easy ground, at Williamsburg he found
A Longstreet indeed, and nothing shorter;
And it put him in the dumps that spades wasn't trumps,
And the Hills he couldn't level "as he orter."

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve
For Longstreet is a hard road to travel -
Lay down the shovel, and throw away the spade
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I'm afraid!

Then said Lincoln unto Pope, "You can make the trip, I hope;
I will save the Universal Yankee nation.
To make sure of no defeat, I'll leave no lines of retreat,
And issue a famous proclamation."
But that same dreaded Jackson, this fellow laid his whacks
And made him, by compulsion, a seceder,
And Pope took rapid flight from Manassas' second fight,
'was his very last appearance as a leader.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For Stonewall is a hard road to travel;
Pope did his very best, but was evidently sold,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I am told!

Last of all, the brave Burnside, with his pontoon bridges, tried
A road no one had thought of before him;
With two hundred thousand men for the Rebel slaughter pen
And the blessed Union flag waving o'er him;
But he met a fire like hell of canister and shell
That mowed his men down with great slaughter;
'Twas a shocking sight to view, that second Waterloo,
And the river ran with more blood than water.

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
Rappahannock is a hard road to travel;
Burnside got in a trap, which caused him for to grieve
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!

We are very much perplexed to know who is the next
To command the new Richmond expedition;
For the Capital must blaze, and that in ninety days,
And Jeff and his men be sent to perdition.
We'll take the cursed town, and then we'll burn it down,
And plunder and hang up each cursed Rebel;
Yet the contraband was right when he told us they would fight,
"Oh, yes, Massa, they fight like the devil!"

Chorus
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel;
Then pull off your coat and roll up your sleeve,
For Richmond is a hard road to travel, I believe!


RIDING A RAID

'Tis old Stonewall the rebel that leans on his sword,
And while we are mounting prays low to the Lord.
Now each cavalier that loves honor and right
Let him follow the feather of Stuart tonight.

Chorus
Come tighten your girth and slacken your rein;
Come buckle your blanket and holster again.
Try the click of your trigger and balance your blade
For he must ride sure that goes riding a raid.

Now gallop, now gallop to swim or to ford;
Old Stonewall, still watching, prays low to the Lord.
Goodbye, dear old rebel, the river's not wide,
And Maryland's lights in her window to guide.

There's a man in the White House with blood on his mouth;
If there's knaves in the North there are braves in the South.
We are three thousand horses and not one afraid,
We are three thousand sabers and not a dull blade.

Then gallop, then gallop by ravines and rocks,
Who would bar us the way takes his toll in hard knocks;
For with these points of steel on the line of Penn
We have made some fine strokes and we'll make 'em again.


Rights Of Woman
Lyrics Published In The Providence Gazette
May 25, 1793
To The Tune Of GOD SAVE THE KING

God save each female's right;
Show to her ravaged sight
Woman is free.
Let freedom's voice prevail,
And draw aside the vail,
Supreme effulgence hail,
Sweet Liberty.

O let the sacred fire
Of Freedom's voice aspire
A woman too;
Man makes the cause his own
And fame his acts reknown;
Woman thy fears disown -
Assert thy due.


Woman aloud rejoice
Exalt to thy feeble voice
In cheerful strain.
Let woman have a share,
Nor yield to slavish fear;
Her equal rights declare
And well maintain.


Arguably an early feminist statement, it bolsters the argument that the American Revolution and its fruits were social and ethical, as well as being political.


Ring de hoop an' blow de horn
A Southern Negro Chaunt
From CHRISTY'S NIGGA SONGSTER

1850

In Carolina whar I was born,
I husk de wood an' chop de corn;
A roastin' ear to de house I bring,
But de drivers kotch me and dey sing -
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

Dey take me out on tater hill,
Dey make me dance against my will;
Dey make me dance on sharp-toed stones,
While ebery nigga laughs and groans -
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

But down de bank I spied a ship,
I slide down on my under hip;
I jump abroad I cross de brink,
Oh, it made dis niggar's gizzard wink!
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

In Carolina de niggas grow
If white man only plant his toe;
Dey water de ground wid ' bacca smoke,
And up de darkey's head will poke.
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

A hop toad preach to de fish ob de pool -
His pulpit was a big toad stool;
His sarmon - "De Frogs Sprung From De Clam",
And dey sung a croakin' meter psalm.
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

A water snake set to one day,
Along wid a nine-eyed lamparay;
Dey bit till all dar flesh war gone,
Den picked dar teeth wid dar own jaw bone.
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

A bear was challenged to fight a polecat,
Bekase he said his breath was bad;
And when dey come to take dar station,
De bear soon away wid de fogoation.
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

To Boston port I soon called down,
De Dickens was all about de town;
I axed a man what de Dickens was,
He said 'twas Pickwick Dickens Boz.
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

Massa Boz he comed up where I am,
And axed my name, I told him "Sam";
Says he, "Friend Sam, you look right well, sar,"
Says I, "Your Sam look great deal Weller."
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
Ring de hoop and blow de horn,
I catch dat nigga stealin' corn.

Dey feed dis Massa Boz so high
Dat dis nigga hungry fly;
In Boston I could get no pickin's,
For all de wittals went to de Dickens.
Ring de bell and sound de gong,
Ring de bell and sound de gong,
Ring de bell and sound de gong,
Massa Boz am feeding strong.

From Philadelphy I den did stray,
I stopt at Camden on my way;
Like dying horse de folks all sigh did,
Bekase dar bank had suicided.
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
De Bankers dey got all de corn.

Pennsylvania bankers hair turn gray,
'Kase a Porter wheel folks cash away;
He kicked dar shins and shut de doors,
And told dem to put dar platers on de sores.
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
Ring de Cash and blow de horn,
De Bankers dey got all de corn.


rING, RING DE BANJO

Words And Music By Stephen Collins Foster
1851

De time is nebber dreary if the darkey nebber groans;
De ladies nebber weary wid de rattle ob de bones.
Den come again, Susanna, by de gaslight ob de moon -
We'll tum de old piano when de banjo's out ob tune.

Chorus
Ring, ring de banjo! I like dat good old song!
Come again, my own true lub, Oh! wha you been so long?

Oh! nebber count de bubbles while dere's water in de spring;
De darkey hab no troubles while he's got dis song to sing.
De beauties ob creation will nebber lose der charm
While I roam de old plantation wid my true lub on my arm.

Once I was so lucky, my Massa set me free;
I went to old Kentucky, to see what I could see.
I could not go no farder - I turn to Massa's door;
I lub him all de harder, I'll go away no more.

Early in de morning ob a lubly summer day,
My Massa send me warning he'd like to hear me play.
On de banjo tapping, I come wid dulcem strain;
Massa fall a napping - he'll nebber wake again.

My lub, I'll hab to leab you while de ribber's running high;
But I nebber can deceibe you, so don't you wipe your eye.
I's guine to make some money, but I'll come anodder day -
I'll come again, my honey, if I hab to work my way.

Sung with Tremendous Applause by Christy's celebrated Band of Minstrels.
H. DE MARSAN. Songs, Ballads, toy books. 38 & 60 Chatham St. N. Y.

 


ROCK OF AGES

Words By Augustus Toplady
Music By Thomas Hastings
1832

Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood from Thy wounded side which flowed
Be of sin the double cure: cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labors of my hands can fulfill thy law's demands;
Could my zeal no respite know, could my tears forever flow,
All for sin could not atone; Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress, helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly; wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath, when mine eyelids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown, see Thee on Thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee.


roll, alabama, roll
Frank Townsend

When the Alabama's keel was laid,
Roll, Alabama, Roll,
'Twas laid in the yard of Jonathan Laird,
Oh, roll, Alabama, roll.

'Twas laid in the yard of Jonathan Laird,
Roll, Alabama, roll.
'Twas laid in the town of Birkenhead,
Oh, roll, Alabama, roll.

From the Western Isles she sailed forth,
Roll, Alabama, Roll,
To destroy the commerce of the north,
Oh, Roll, Alabama, Roll.

Many a sailor lad he saw his doom,
Roll, Alabama, Roll
When the Kearsarge it hove into view,
Oh, Roll, Alabama, Roll.

Till a ball from the forward pivot that day,
Roll, Alabama, Roll,
Shot the Alabama's stern away,
Oh, Roll, Alabama, Roll.

Off the three-mile limit in sixty-five,
Roll, Alabama, Roll,
The Alabama went to her grave,
Oh, Roll, Alabama, Roll.

Roll, Alabama, Roll is based on an earlier American sea chanty.  The lyrics of the song, written by a Confederate sailor, Frank Townsend, are about his ship, the Alabama.  The Alabama was built in Birkenhead, England by Jonathon Laird & Sons.  The ship was assigned to attacking Yankee merchant ships and reportedly sank or captured 56 merchant ships from 1862 to 1864. On June 19, 1864 the Alabama was sunk off the coast of Cherbourg, France by the man-of-war U.S.S. Kearsarge.


Root, Abe, Or Die

The Dutch came to Missouri, as well you all do know,
To subjugate the rebel boys but couldn 't make it go.
They can't whip the rebel boys, and I'll tell you the reason why,
The Southern boys made them run--Root hog or die.

Colonel Seigle came to Carthage to whip the rebel crew,
To feed us to the buzzards, and hang Claib Jackson too.
But they couldn't make the riffle; and I'll tell you the reason why,
The Southern boys made them get--Root hog or die.

Then Lyon came to Springfield to take another stand,
He said he'd whip us this time and drive us from our laud.
He found us down on Wilson's Creek, to whale us he did try ;
But the Southern boys made them get--Root hog or die.

'Twas on the tenth of August we heard the Lyon roar,
The grape-shot and minnie balls around like hail did pour.
But our shotgins did the work for them, and I'll tell you why,
The Southern boys made them get-- Root hog or die!

'Twas there Lyon bit the dust and Seigle ran away,
Just as he did at Carthage upou a former day
They left their wounded on the field, and I'll tell you the reason why,
The Southern boys were after them--root hog or die.

It's now we've cleared the Dutchmen, and to Jefferson we'll go
To reinstate our government and let old Abram know
That when he wants to thrash us he gets the chance to try,
And the Southern boys will learn them how to Root hog or die !

General Franz Sigel, a German by birth, recruited a large number of German
immigrants into the Union Army.  In a fight at Carthage, Missouri, he
engaged a much larger Confederate force, led by Governor Jackson and General
Raines, and withdrew with minor losses.  Captain Nathaniel Lyons was killed
in 1861.

From BALLADS AND SONGS By Belden
Collected from written copy from Becca Oliver, Arkansas, 1862


ROOT, HOG, OR DIE

Anonymous
1856

I'm right from old Virginny wid my pocket full ob news;
I'm worth twenty shillings right square in my shoes.
It doesn't make a bit of differnance to neider you nor I:
Big pig or little pig - Root, Hog, or Die.

Chorus
I'm chief cook and bottlewasher,
Cap'n ob de waiters;
I stand upon my head,
When I peel de apple dumplin's.

I'se happiest darkee on de top ob de earth;
I get fat as possom in de time ob de dearth.
Like a pig in a tate' patch, dar let me be
Way down in old Virginny whar it's "Root, Hog, or Die."

De Boston dandies, dey look so very grand;
Old clothes hand me down gloves upon de hand;
High heel boots moustaches round de eye -
A perfect sick family ob Root, Hog, or Die.

De Boston gals, dey de beat dem all -
Dey wear high heel shoes for to make demself's tall;
If dey dont hab dem, de Lor', how dey'll cry -
De boys hab got to get dem or else "Root, Hog, or Die."

De Shanghie coats, dey're getting all de go;
Whar de boys get dem I really don't know.
But dey're bound to get dem if dey don't hang too high,
Or else dey make de Tailors run - "Root, Hog or Die."


ROSE OF ALABAMY

Words By S.S. Steele
Music: Anonymous
1846

Away from Mississippi's vale
W with my ol' hat there for a sail,
I crossed upon a cotton bale
To the Rose of Alabamy.

Chorus
Oh brown Rosie, Rose of Alabamy!
The sweet tobacco posey is the Rose of Alabamy.

In Alabam' where I was born,
I chopped the cotton and hoed the corn;
To the Rose of Alabam' I bring
My pick, my banjo, and I sing:

I landed on the far sand bank,
I sat upon a hollow plank,
And there I made the banjo twank
For the Rose of Alabamy.

Oh, after d'rectly bye and bye,
The moon rose white as Rosie's eye;
Then like a young coon out so sly,
Stole the Rose of Alabamy.

I said, "Sit down just where you please" -
Upon my lap she took her ease.
"It's good to go upon the knees,"
Said Rose of Alabamy.

The river rose, the cricket sang,
The lightnin' bug did flash his wing;
Then like a rope my arms I fling
'Round Rose of Alabamy.

We hugged - how long, I cannot tell -
My Rosie seemed to like it well;
My banjo in the river fell -
Oh, Rose of Alabamy!

Like alligator after prey
I jumped in, but it float away;
And all the while it seemed to say,
"Oh, Rose of Alabamy."

Now every night come rain or shower,
I hunt that banjo for an hour
And see my sweet tobacco flower -
Oh, the Rose of Alabamy.

Since the day I left the farm
A dusky blossom kept me warm;
But how I long for the tawny charms
Of Rose of Alabamy.

So fare thee well, little Liza Jane,
And fare thee well, ye belles of fame;
For all your charms are put to shame
By Rose of Alabamy.


The Rose Tree
From Knoxville Harmony
1838

There is a land of pleasure,
Where streams of joy forever roll;
'Tis there I have my treasure,
And there I long to rest my soul.
Long darkness dwelt around me,
With scarcely once a cheering ray,
But since my Saviour found me,
A lamp was shown along the way.

My way is full of danger,
But 'tis the path that leads to God;
And like a faithful soldier,
I'll march along the heav'nly road.
Now I must gird my sword on,
My breast-plate, helmet and my shield,
And fight the host of Satan,
Until I reach the heavn'ly field.

I'm on the way to Zion,
Still guided by my Saviour's hand,
O come along dear sinner,
And see Immanuel's happy land.
To all that stay behind me,
I bid a long, a sad farewell,
Come now or you'll repent it,
When you do reach the gates of hell.

From Knoxville Harmony, Knoxville, Tennessee, 1838
Knoxville Harmony Is A Shaped Note Songster



ROSIN THE BEAU

1838

I've traveled this wide world over,
And now to another I'll go;
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
To welcome old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
To welcome old Rosin, the Beau;
I know that good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Beau.

'Tis a gay round of pleasure I've traveled,
Nor will I leave behind a foe;
And when my companions are jovial,
They will drink to Old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
They'll drink to old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
They'll drink to old Rosin the Beau;
And when my companions are jovial,
They will drink to old Rosin the Beau.

When I'm dead and laid out on the counter,
A voice you will hear from below
Sayin' "Send down plain water and whiskey
To drink to old Rosin the Beau."

Chorus
To drink to old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
To drink to old Rosin the Beau;
Sayin', "Send down plain water and whiskey
To drink to old Rosin the Beau."

And when I am dead, I reckon
The ladies will all want to know;
So just lift off the lid of the coffin,
And look at old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
And look at old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
And look at old Rosin the Beau;
Just lift off the lid of the coffin
And look at old Rosin the Beau.

When I'm dead and laid out on the counter -
The people all making a show -
Just sprinkle plain whiskey and water
On the corpse of old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
On the corpse of old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
On the corpse of old Rosin the Beau;
Just sprinkle plain whiskey and water
On the corpse of old Rosin the Beau.

I'll have to be buried, I'm thinkin',
And I would like it done just so;
Be sure not to go contrary
To the wish of old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
To the wish of old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
To the wish of old Rosin the Beau;
Be sure not to go contrary
To the wish of old Rosin the Beau.

You must get some dozen stout fellows,
And stand them all 'round in a row;
Let 'em drink out of half-gallon bottles
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau, me lads,
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau;
Let 'em drink out of half gallon bottles
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau.

Get those half dozen stout fellows
And let 'em all staggering go;
Dig a deep hole out in the meadow,
And in it toss Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
And in it toss Rosin the Beau, me lads,
And in it toss Rosin the Beau;
Dig a deep hole out in the meadow,
And in it toss Rosin the Beau.

Then get two bottles of good port,
And place one at me head and me toes;
With a di'mond ring, scratch upon 'em
The name of old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
The name of old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
The name of old Rosin the Beau;
With a di'mond ring, scratch upon 'em
The name of old Rosin the Beau.

My life is now drawn too its closing
As all will someday be so;
So we'll take a bumper at parting
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau, me lads,
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau;
So we'll take a bumper at parting
To the mem'ry of Rosin the Beau.

I feel that old tyrant approaching,
That cruel, relentless old foe
Who spares neither age nor condition,
Nor even old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
Nor even old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
Nor even old Rosin the Beau;
Who spares neither age nor condition,
Nor even old Rosin the Beau.

I've lived for the good of my nation,
And my sons are now all growing low;
I hope that the next generation
Will resemble old Rosin the Beau.

Chorus
Will resemble old Rosin the Beau, me lads,
Will resemble old Rosin the Beau;
And I hope that the next generation
Will resemble old Rosin the Beau.


RUN, NIGGER, RUN
Slave Song

Chorus
Run nigger run, Pateroller gonna get you;
Run nigger run, it's almost day.
Run nigger run, pateroller gonna get you,
Run nigger run - well, you better get away!

Nigger run, nigger flew,
Nigger tore his shirt in two.
Nigger run, nigger fell,
Nigger's toe it hurt like hell.

Oh, please, Marster, don't ketch me;
Ketch dat nigger behin' dat tree;
He stole money en I stole none -
Put him in the calaboose des for fun!

Some folks say "Nigger won't steal",
But I kotch one in my cornfield;
He run ter de eas', he run ter de wes',
He run his head in a hornet nes'!

Some folks say "Nigger won't steal" -
I caught t'ree in my cornfield.
One had a bushel, one had a peck,
An' one had a rope o' 'bacca 'round his neck.

De sun am set, dis nigger am free,
De yaller gals he goes to see;
A white man yell, "Run, damn you," -
You should ob seen dis nigger flew.

Wid eyes wide open and head hung down
Like de rabbit before de houn',
Dis nigger streak it for de pasture;
Nigger run fast, white man run faster.

And ober de fence as slick as a eel
Dis nigger jumped all but his heel;
De white man ketch dat fast, you see,
And tied it tight aroun' de tree.

Dis nigger heard dat old whip crack,
But nebber stopped fur to look back;
I started home as straight as a bee
And left my heel tied aroun' de tree.

Dat nigger, he sed doan' ketch me,
But git dat nigger behin' dat tree;
Dat nigger cried, dat nigger lied,
Dat nigger shook his ole fat side.

My ol' Miss, she prommus me
Dat when she die, she set me free;
But she done dead many year ago,
En yer I'm hoein' de same ol' row!

I'se hoein' across; I'se hoein' aroun';
I'se cleanin' up some mo' new groun';
Whar I libs so hard, I libs so free
Dat my sins rise up in front er me!

But some er dese days my time will come;
I'll hyear dat bugle, I'll hyear dat drum;
I'll see dem armies marchin' 'long,
I'll lif' my head en jine dar song:

I'll dine no mo' behin' dat tree
When de angels flock fer to wait on me!
I'll get to Heaben - wait and see -
And stand up tall and clean and free.

De nigger run, de nigger flew;
De nigger los' his big old shoe;

Nigger run, nigger flew;
Why in de debil can't de white man, too?


RUN, NIGGER, RUN
OR THE M.P.'LL CATCH YOU

De sun am set - dis nigger am free,
De colored gals he goes to see;
I heard a voice cry, "Run, dad, fech you!
Run, nigger, run, or de MP'll catch you!"

Chorus
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!

Spoken
Mr. Bones - Oh! You ought to seen me dressed dat day. I had a pair ob dese United States gaiters, hem-stitched behind, made ober at Blackwell's Island; and den I had on dat pink snuff-colored coat, and den I had on dat green white satin vest, together wid a hickory mahogany cane, wid a gold brass feller on de bottom. Oh! dar wasn't room enough dat day for me. I knocked de people off of de sidewalk, and some of de time I got knocked off; but I got dar at last, and rung de bell. She opened the door; then hung my hat up on the floor. I set down by her side about an hour, telling her dat I lubbed her, when all at once she swooned ober in de chair, and exclaimed, "Look dar!" Says I, "Whar?" And when I looked ober t'oards the door, and there was a white man's face, peeping frough de crack ob the door; at the same time he exclaimed...

Audience - "What, Mr. Bones?"

Chorus
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!

Wid eyes erect, and head hanging down,
Like de sprightly hare before de hound,
Dis nigger streak it through de pasture -
Nigger run fast, white man run faster.

Spoken
Mr. Bones - Well, I didn't 'zactly run; but I done some pretty tall walking. I went ober fences, frough fields, and I got drowned four times in the mud, an' at last I gots to de other side; an' just as I passed the old corn crib, thar was a little boy come out from behind the crib, an' he whispered in my ear, an' told me to...

Audience - "What did he tell you to do, Mr. Bones?"

Chorus
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!

And ober de fence, as slick as an eel,
Dis nigger jumped - all but his heel;
De white man caught dat fast you see,
And tied it tight around de tree.

Spoken
Mr. Bones - Yes, just like all de niggers, de heel is the biggest part ob the foot, an' just as I jumped ober the fence, he coch me by the heel, an' held me fast, an' sez, "I got you now!"

"Sez I, 'I don't know 'bout dat." So he took an' tied my heel t'ree or four times 'round the tree, an' then I t'ought I was a goner, when all at once something fell out of the top of the tree, cut off my heel, an' at the same time it exclaimed...

Audience - "What, Mr. Bones?"

Chorus
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!

Dis nigger heard dat old whip crack,
But nebber stopped for to look back;
I started home as straight as a bee,
And left my heel tied round de tree.

Spoken
Mr. Bones - Yes, dar wur no time to stop an' look back den, 'kase I wur making 'bout a mile - mile an' a half - two miles - t'ree miles an' a half - or four miles to d minute. So ober the fence I went, knocked in de front door, upset de cook stove, spilt all de victuals ober the floor, scalded de old cook to deff, an' knocked de old woman frough de front window ; den de old man got after me wid de broomstick, an' ebery jump I took, he hollered out...

Audience - "What did he holler, Mr. Bones?"

Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!
Run, nigger, run, de MP'll catch you!
Run, nigger, run, tum a du daddle da!

 

Home