“REELS”
Songs “ob de Worl’ly Nigger”
FOLLER DE DRINKIN’ GOU’D*
“One of my great-uncles, who was connected with the railroad movement, remembered that in the records of the Anti-Slavery Society there was a story of a peg-leg sailor, known as Peg-Leg Joe, who made a number of trips through the South and induced young Negroes to run away and escape. … The main scene of his activities was in the country north of Mobile, and the trail described in the song followed northward to the headwaters of the Tombigbee River, thence over the divide and down the Ohio River to Ohio … the peg-leg sailor would … teach this song to the young slaves and show them the mark of his natural left foot and the round hole made by his peg-leg. He would then go ahead of them northward and leave a print made with charcoal and mud of the outline of a human left foot and a round spot in place of the right foot. … Nothing more could be found relative to the man. … ‘Drinkin’ gou’d’ is the Great Dipper. … ‘The grea’ big un,’ the Ohio.”*
When de sun come back,
When de firs’ quail call,
Den de time is come—
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d.
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d,
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d;
For de ol’ man say,
“Foller de drinkin’ gou’d.”
De riva’s bank am a very good road,
De dead trees show de way;
Lef’ foot, peg foot goin’ on,
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d. (Chorus.)
De river ends atween two hills,
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d;
’Nother river on de other side,
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d. (Chorus.)
Wha de little river
Meet de gre’ big un,
De ol’ man waits—
Foller de drinkin’ gou’d. (Chorus.)
RUN, NIGGER, RUN!
George B. Elliott of the law department of the Atlantic Railroad Company wrote in 1911 from Wilmington, North Carolina, quoting from a letter he had just received from O. B. Smith, Henderson, North Carolina:
“Your card of inquiry for the words ‘Run, Nigger, Run, the Patter-roller Git You’ came to-night and cheerful as the chirp of the cricket on the hearth. Jessie gave you Uncle Remus’ version of recent hashed-up things since the War, before I had time to say anything, but I heard it in this wise before Uncle Remus was born:
“Just after the Nat Turner Insurrection in 1832 the Negroes were put under special restriction to home quarters, and patrolmen appointed to keep them in, and if caught without a written pass from owner they were dealt with severely then and there; hence the injunction to ‘Run, Nigger, Run, the Patter-roller Git You’ to the tune of ‘Fire in the Mountains’—vigorous and lively with more pathos than ever ‘Dixie’ carried, which it antedated many years. The original words were:
“ ‘The day is done, night comes down
Ye are long ways from home—
Oh, run, nigger, run, patter-roller git you.
“ ‘Yaller gal look and trine keep you overtime,
De bell done rung, overseer hallowing loud—
Oh, run, nigger, run—’
“Like everything of merit it has been plagiarized and burdened with outside inventions until it is hardly recognizable, but the ‘Fire in the Mountains’ still sticks.”
Do, 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!
Oh, run, nigger, run! de patter-roller ketch you.
Run, nigger, run! hit’s almos’ day!
Oh, run, nigger, run! de patter-roller ketch you.
Run, nigger, run! hit’s almos’ day!
Some folks say dat a nigger won’t steal,
But I kotch one in my corn-fiel’;
He run ter de eas’, he run ter de wes’,
He run he head in a hornet nes’!
De sun am set, dis nigger am free;
De yaller gals he goes to see;
I heard a man cry, “Run, doggone you,”
Run, nigger, run, patter-roller ketch you.
Wid eyes wide open and head hangin’ 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.
My ol’ Miss, she prommus me
Dat when she die, she set me free;
But she done dead dis many year ago,
En yer I’m hoein’ de same ol’ row!
I’m a-hoein’ across, I’m a-hoein’ aroun’,
I’m a-cleanin’ up some mo’ new groun’.
Whar I lif’ so hard, I lif’ so free,
Dat my sins rise up in front er me!
But some er dese days my time will come,
I’ll year dat bugle, I’ll year dat drum,
I’ll see dem armies a-marchin’ along,
I’ll lif’ my head en jine der song—
I’ll dine no mo’ behin’ dat tree,
W’en de angels flock fer to wait on me!
Polk Miller, Richmond, Virginia, who interpreted Negro songs successfully on the platform, contributed these stanzas:
I run down to de ribber, but I couldn’t get across,
I jumped ’pon a hog and thought he was a hoss!
As I was goin’ through the fiel’
A black snake bit me ’pon my heel,
Dat serpent he did ’ceive a shock,
For de nigger’s heel’s as hard as a rock.
As I was passin’ Wright’s old mill,
My team got balked at de foot o’ de hill.
I hollered to de driver, “Dat won’t do;
I must shove an’ so mus’ you.”
PICK A BALE O’ COTTON
Although no man has ever hand-picked more than eight hundred pounds of cotton a day, this Negro work song, that seems to be one of the survivors of the Civil War and slavery, speaks of a personal acquaintance, not only with one but with many men and women who can pick a bale of cotton (which must weigh between thirteen and fifteen hundred pounds) in a day. Clear Rock, seventy-year-old water boy on the Central State Farm near Sugarland, Texas, shouted out the following song with as much vigor as if he could get up the next minute and pick a bale of cotton, and in a half-day.
Dat nigger fum Shiloh
Can pick a bale o’ cotton,
Dat nigger fum Shiloh
Can pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
A-pick a bale, a-pick a bale,
Pick a bale o’ cotton.
A-pick a bale, a-pick a bale,
Pick a bale a day.
Ol’ Eli,
Pick a bale o’ cotton,
Pick a bale a day.
Ol’ massa tol’ de niggers,
Pick a bale o’ cotton,
Ol’ massa tol’ de niggers,
Pick a bale a day.
I b’lieve to my soul,
I pick a bale o’ cotton,
I b’lieve to my soul,
I pick a bale a day.
I had a little wife could
Pick a bale o’ cotton,
I had a little wife could
Pick a bale a day.
HARD TO BE A NIGGER
Well, it makes no difference
How you make out your time.
White man sho’ to bring a
Nigger out behin’.
Chorus:
Ain’t it hard? ain’t it hard?
Ain’t it hard to be a nigger? nigger? nigger?
Ain’t it hard? ain’t it hard?
For you cain’t get yo’ money when it’s due.
Lemme tell you, white man,
Lemme tell you, honey,
Nigger makes de cotton,
White folks gets de money.
An’ work all de time,
White man sho’ to bring a
Nigger out behin’.
Ef a nigger gits ’rested,
An’ can’t pay his fine,
They sho’ sen’ him out
To the county gang.
Naught’s a naught,
Figger’s a figger,
Figger fer de white man,
Naught fer de nigger.
SHORTENIN’ BREAD
Two little niggers lyin’ in bed,
One of ’em sick an’ de odder mos’ dead.
Call for de doctor an’ de doctor said,
“Feed dem darkies on shortenin’ bread.”
Chorus:
Mammy’s little baby loves shortenin’, shortenin’,
Mammy’s little baby loves shortenin’ bread.
Or:
Shortenin’ bread, shortenin’ bread,
How I love shortenin’ bread!
Or:
Shortenin’, shortenin’, shortenin’ bread,
Don’ my baby like shortenin’ bread!
Stole de skillet, stole de led,
Stole dat gal makin’ shortenin’ bread.
Got six mon’s fo’ de skillet, got six mon’s fo’ de led;
I got six mon’s fo’ de gal makin’ shortenin’ bread, etc.
Went to de kitchen an’ kicked off de led,
An’ filled my pockets full o’ shortenin’ bread.
Shortenin’ bread an’ it baked thin,
Dat what it take to make ’em grin.
Put on de skillet, put on de led,
My lil baby wants shortenin’ bread.
Two little niggers upstairs in bed,
One turned over an’ to de odder said,
“How about dat shortenin’ bread,
How about dat shortenin’ bread?”
One lil nigger a-layin’ in de bed,
His eyes shet an’ still, like he been dead.
Two lil niggers a-layin’ in de bed,
A-snorin’ an’ a-dreamin’ of a table spread.
W’en de doctor come he simpully said,
“Feed dat boy some shortenin’ bread.”
T’other lil nigger sick in de bed,
W’en he hear tell o’ shortenin’ bread,
Popped up well, he dance an’ sing,
He almos’ cut de pigeon wing.
I do love liquor, an’ I will take a dram,
I’d ruther be a nigger dan’ a po’ white man.
SANDY LAN’
Big yam taters in de sandy lan’,
Sandy bottom, sandy lan’,
Big yam taters in de sandy lan’,
Sandy bottom, sandy lan’.
Sift your meal an’ save de bran,
Mighty good livin’ in de sandy lan’.
Big buck nigger in de sandy lan’,
Raise big taters in de sandy lan’.
Big fat possum up-a ’simmon tree,
Make a big supper fer you an’ me.
Hurry up boys in sandy lan’,
Big fat possum up-a ’simmon tree,
We’ll make our livin’ in sandy lan’,
Lot o’ pretty gals in sandy lan’.
Right an’ left in sandy lan’,
On to de nex’ in sandy lan’.
Dinah’s got a wooden leg, so they say,
Shake that wooden leg, Dinah-o.
Sal’s got meat skin laid away,
To grease that wooden leg, so they say.
PATTIN’
When musical instruments were rare among the plantation Negroes, they often made music for jig dancing by clapping their hands or slapping their thighs. The mouth with lips protruding often served as a substitute for the drum when intense emphasis was desired. Words sometimes were attached to these patting chants, just as words followed the mountain breakdown tunes. Two examples of Negro patting chants:
Possum up de gum tree,
Coony in de holler,
Little gal at our house
Fat as she can waller.
RABBIT HASH
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DA’S ALL RIGHT, BABY
Patting song by Clear Rock of the Central State Farm near Sugarland, Texas.
Way up yonder, darlin’,
’Bove the sun, sugar,
Sugarplum. Sho’ ’nuff?
Refrain:
Da’s all righ’, honey;
Da’s all righ’, baby.
Be careful, baby,
What you do, honey,
Yonder lil girl, honey,
Git you too. Sho’ ’nuff?
I’m goin’ tell you, honey,
De nachul fac’, sugar,
Steal my woman, darlin’,
’Ll bring her back. Sho’ ’nuff?
Got a horse, sugar,
Buggy too, baby,
Horse’s black, darlin’,
Buggy’s blue. Sho’ ’nuff?
I’m goin’ tell you, baby,
What to see, honey,
I’m goin’ away, darlin’,
Tennessee. Sho’ ’nuff?
COTTON FIELD SONG*
Rackin’ ’cross de prairie,
Raccoon ask de possum—
Does she want to marry?
Possum in a ’simmon tree,
Raccoon on de groun’,
Raccoon ask de possum
To shake dem ’simmons down.
Well, I met a possum on de road
An’ ask him whar he’s gwine.
He ’lowed it was his business,
But it wasn’t none o’ mine.
Den I see Miss Rabbit,
A-settin’ in de brush,
All dressed up in her Sunday clothes,
A-lookin’ sweet and fresh.
Miss Rabbit am a gay young gal,
She come to meet her beau;
Somepin’s gwineter happen soon,
Ef de preacher am too slow.
I met a rabbit in de road,
I ast him whar he’s gwine.
“I ain’t got time to tell you now,
De ol’ gray houn’s behin’.”
“Say, Mister Rabbit,
Your ears mighty thin.”
“Yas, bless-a-God,
They been a-splittin’ de win’.”
Your fur mighty gray.”
“Yes, bless-a-God,
Seen a ha’nt ’fore day.”
Hog an’ a sheep,
A-goin’ to de paster,
Hog tol’ de sheep,
“Caincha trot a little faster?”
Thousand verses to my song,
Hope I’ve sung ’em all.
’Fore I’d sing ’em all again,
I’d see you all in hell.
DE GREY GOOSE
Iron Head grinned, very literally like the Devil, while he sang this saga of the grey goose. It has the feel of the Paul Bunyan tales and of Uncle Remus.
Well, las’ Monday mornin’,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,
Well, las’ Monday mornin’,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,
My daddy went a-huntin’, etc.,
Huntin’ for de grey goose, etc.,
An’ he wen’ to de big wood,
An’ he took along his zulu,
An’ de houn’ dog he wen’ too.
Houn’ dog ’gin to whinin’,
Long come a grey goose,
Well, up to his shoulder,
An’ ram back de hammer,
An’ pull on de trigger,
And de gun wen’ boo-loo,
Down he come a-fallin’,
He was six weeks a-fallin’,
An’ he put him on de waggin,
An’ he taken him to de white house.
Oh, yo’ wife an’ my wife,
They’ll give a feather pickin’;
He was six weeks a-pickin’,
An’ dėy put him on a-cookin’;
He was six weeks a-cookin’,
An’ dey put him on de table,
An’ de fork couldn’ stick him.
Well, dey throwed him in de hog-pen,
An’ de hogs couldn’ eat him,
Well, he broke de ol’ sow’s jawbone,
So dey taken him to de sawmill,
An’ he broke de saws’ teeth out,
An’ de las’ time I seed her,
She was flyin’ ’cross de ocean,
Had a long string o’ goslin’s,
An’ dey all went “Quonk, quonk,”
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,
An’ dey all went “Quonk, quonk,”
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.
Lead Belly (Ledbetter) and his twelve-stringed guitar made it doubtful whether this was a dance tune or a work chant.
O Julie Ann Johnson,
Oho!
O Julie Ann Johnson,
Oho!
Gwineter catch dat train, boys,
Oho!
Gwineter catch dat train, boys,
Oho!
Gwineter fin’ Julie,
Oho!
Gwineter fin’ Julie,
Oho!
She gone to Dallas,
Oho!
She gone to Dallas,
Oho!
Oho!
Gwineter hug my Julie,
Oho!
Lead Belly could go on at great length about Julie and his intentions toward her, but we shall leave the reader to improvise further according to his own fancy.
MY YALLOW GAL
As sung by Iron Head, an “habitual criminal,” imprisoned on the Central State Farm near Sugarland, Texas. This is one of the few folk songs about women on the lips of Negro men that have any element of tenderness.
Oh, my daddy was a fool about dat yallow gal,
Oh, my daddy was a fool about dat yallow gal.
Oh, my yallow, my yallow, my yallow gal,
Oh, my yallow, my yallow, my yallow gal,
Oh, my yallow, my yallow, yallow, yallow gal,
My yallow, yallow, yallow, yallow gal.
Alternate Refrains:
My yallou, my yallou, my yallou gal, (2)
My pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty yallow gal, (2)
Alternate Verses
God knows I’m a fool about a yallow gal, (2)
Got cold black hair, dat yallow gal, (2)
I walked to Milam County wid my yallow gal, (2)
Well, I walked and I talked wid my yallow gal, (2)
But I didn’ get nothin’ from my yallow gal, (2)
Well, I slep’ all night wid my yallow gal, (2)
But I didn’ get nothin’ from my yallow gal, (2)
Well, I rolled and I tumbled wid my yallow gal, (2)
But I didn’ get nothin’ from my yallow gal, (2)
DE BLACK GAL
Oh, de white gal ride in a automobile,
Oh, de yaller gal try to do de same;
Oh, de black gal ride in a slow oxcart,
But she get dar jes’ de same.
Oh, de white gal have a silk petticoat,
Oh, de yaller gal have de same;
Oh, de black gal have no petticoat a-tall,
But she git dar jes’ de same.
Oh, de white gal ride in a parlor car,
Oh, de yaller gal try to do de same;
Oh, de black gal ride in de Jim Crow car,
But she git dar jes’ de same.
Oh, de white gal have a high-heel shoe,
Oh, de yaller gal try to have de same;
Oh, de black gal have no shoe a-tall,
But she git dar jes’ de same.
Oh, de white gal have a nice long ha’r,
Oh, de yaller gal try to have de same;
Oh, de black gal have a one-cent wig,
But he her ha’r jes’ de same.
Oh, a white gal eats de cake an’ pie,
Oh, de yaller gal try to do de same;
Oh, de black gal eats de ashy cake,
But she’s eatin’ jes’ de same.
Oh, a white gal sleeps in a bed,
Oh, a yaller gal try to do de same;
Oh, a black gal sleeps on de flo’,
But she’s sleepin’ jes’ de same.
Oh, de white gal smell like sweet perfume,
Oh, de yaller gal try to smell de same;
Oh, de black gal smell like a billy goat,
But he her smell jes’ de same.
* H. B. Parks in Volume VII of the Publications of the Texas Folk-Lore Society.
* A composite. Tune from Mary Gresham.