VIII
THE BLUES*
“Takes a long freight train wid a red caboose to carry my blues away.”
“When my heart struck sorrow de tears come a-rollin’ down.”
“Sometimes I jes’ sings an’ picks, an’ sometimes I jes’ sings an’ thinks, an’ sometimes I jes’ sings. My blues ain’t got no time, ain’t got no place, don’t mean nothin’ to me an’ nobody else. But good Lawd, I got de blues, can’t be satisfied, got to sing.… When I gits ’bout half high as Georgia pine, ’bout forty wid de cleaver, an’ ’bout half ’sleep, I sings slow blues, don’t know what I’m singin’, don’t know what they mean. Still they has singin’ feelin’ an’ I puts all sorts an’ kinds together. …
“Hey, mama, hey, baby, you don’t know my mind,
When you think I’m lovin’ you, I’m leavin’ you behin’.
Hey, mama, hey, baby, you don’t know my mind,
When you think I’m laughin’, laughin’ to keep from cryin’.”
—Left Wing Gordon, in Howard Odum’s Rainbow Round My Shoulder.
A lonely Negro man plowing out in some hot, silent river bottom, sings this way. It is in such music, we believe, that the “blues” had their origin. Any white person who is acquainted with the singing of untrained country Negroes in the South will tell you that “niggers are always hollerin’ like that out in the fields.”
Sometimes I think my woman, she too sweet to die,
Den sometimes I think she ought to be buried alive.
DIRTY MISTREATIN’ WOMEN*
A dollar’s roun’ goes from han’ to han’,
Jes’ de way dese women goes from man to man.
She drove me from her do’, throwed ashes all in my face,
De way she mistreat me, she gonna drive me to my grave.
She cooked my breakfas’ an’ she th’owed it outdo’s,
Had de nerve to ask me would a matchbox hol’ my clo’s.
Gwine lay my head on a railroad track,
Ef a train come along, gwine snatch it right back.
O ——, you don’ do me no good,
I don’ blame you, do de same thing ef I could.
Better stop yo’ woman from smilin’ in my face,
Ef she keeps on smilin’, I’ll be rollin’ in yo’ place.
O ——, you bet’ leave my li’l girl ’lone,
She might mistreat you an’ you swear she done you wrong.
Poor dog in de alley, jumpin’ ’gainst de chain,
Got a high, high brown dat’s doin’ de same.
She change a dollar, give me a lovin’ dime;
I’ll see her when her trouble’s jes’ like mine.
I thought I’d tell you what a nigger woman do—
Have another man an’ play sick on you.
DINK’S BLUES
A levee was being built along the Brazos River in Texas. The contractor had brought his mules and his mule-skinners with him from the Mississippi River. But he had neglected to provide one thing—women; and the men were raising Hell all over the bottom, with their midnight creeping, their fighting, and their razor play. It was a distinct hindrance to the progress of work on the levee. So it was that the contractor went to Memphis, hired a boatload of women, brought them down the river to the levee-camp, and turned them loose. It was not long before every man had a woman in his tent to wash his clothes, cook, draw water, cut firewood, and warm his bed. Dink was one of these women, and twenty-five years ago, after she had downed nearly a quart of gin, she sang these blues. The tune is lost.
Some folks say dat de worry blues ain’ bad,
It’s de wors’ ol’ feelin’ I ever had.
Git you two three men, so one won’t worry you min’;
Don’ they keep you worried and bothered all de time?
I wish to God eas’-boun’ train would wreck,
Kill de engineer, break de fireman’s neck.
I’m gwine to de river, set down on de groun’,
Ef de blues overtake me, I’ll jump overboard and drown.
Ef trouble was money, I’d be a millioneer,
Ef trouble was money, I’d be a millioneer.
My chuck grindin’ every hole but mine,
My chuck grindin’ every hole but mine.
Come de big Kate Adam wid headlight turn down de stream,
An’ her sidewheel knockin’, “Great-God-I-been-redeemed.”
Ef I feels tomorrow like I feels today,
Stan’ right here an’ look ten-thousand miles away.
My mother tol’ me when I was a chil’,
’Bout de mens an’ whisky would kill me after while.
Ef I gets drunk, wonder who’s gwine carry me home,
Ef I gets drunk, wonder who’s gwine carry me home.
I used to love you, but, oh, God damn you, now,
I used to love you, but, oh, God damn you, now.
De worry blues ain’ nothin’ but de heart disease,
De worry blues ain’ nothin’ but de heart disease.
Jes’ as soon as de freight train make up in de yard,
Some poor woman got an achin’ heart.
Tol’ my mother not to weep an’ mo’n—
I do de bes’ I can, kase Ise a woman grown.
I flag de train an’ it keep on easin’ by,
I fold my arms, I hang my head an’ cry.
When my heart struck sorrow, de tears come rollin’ down,
When my heart struck sorrow, tears come rollin’ down.
Worry now an’ I won’ be worry long,
Take a married woman to sing de worry song.
Ef I leave here walkin’, it’s chances I might ride,
Ef I leave here walkin’, it’s chances I might ride.
Ef I had wings like Norah’s dove,
I’d fly up the river to the man I love.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
Ise got a man, an’ he’s long and tall,
Moves his body like a cannon ball,
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
One o’ dese days, an’ it won’t be long,
Call my name an’ I’ll be gone.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
’Member one night, a-drizzlin’ rain,
Roun’ my heart I felt a pain.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
When I wo’ my ap’ons low,
Couldn’t keep you from my do’.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
Now I wears my ap’ons high,
Sca’cely ever see you passin’ by.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
You pass my do’ an’ you won’ come in,
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
Ef I had listened to whut my mama said,
I’d be at home in my mama’s bed.
Fare thee well, O Honey, fare thee well.
WOMAN BLUE
“Great Gawd, I’m feelin’ bad!
Ain’ got de man I thought I had.”
—From The American Songbag.
An eighteen-year-old black girl, in prison for murder, sang the tune and the first stanza of these blues.
I know you, rider, gonna miss me when I’m gone,
I know you, rider, gonna miss me when I’m gone,
Gonna miss yo’ li’l mama, baby, f’um rollin’ in yo’ arms.
I’s goin’ down de road where I get better care,
I’s goin’ down de road where I get better care,
I b’lieve I’ll go, baby, I don’ feel welcome here.
An’ I laid right down an’ tried to take my res’,
An’ I laid right down an’ tried to take my res’,
But my min’ kep’ ramblin’ like wil’ geese in de Wes’.
Did you ever wake up an’ fin’ yo’ rider gone?
Did you ever wake up an’ fin’ yo’ rider gone?
Put you on a wonder, wish you never had been bo’n.
I knows my baby, he’s boun’ to love me some,
I knows my baby, he’s boun’ to love me some,
He throws his arms aroun’ me like a circle ’roun’ de sun.
Jes’ as sure as de birds fly in de sky above,
Jes’ as sure as de birds fly in de sky above,
Life ain’ worth livin’, honey, ain’ wid de man you love.
I’m goin’ to de river, set down on a log,
I’m goin’ to de river, set down on a log,
Ef I cain’ be yo’ woman, sho gonna be yo’ dog.
Take me back, take me back, baby,
Take me back, take me back, baby,
I won’ do nothin’ you don’ lak, baby.
I’ll cut yo’ wood, I’ll make yo’ fire,
I’ll cut yo’ wood, I’ll make yo’ fire,
I’ll tote yo’ water f’um de Fresno bar.
De sun gwine shine in my back do’ some day,
De sun gwine shine in my back do’ some day,
De win’ gwine rise, baby, an’ blow my blues away.
GO WAY F’OM MAH WINDOW*
Go way f’om mah window,
Go way f’om mah do’,
Go way f’om mah bedside,
Don’ you tease me no mo’.
Go way in de springtime,
Come back in de fall,
Bring you back mo’ money,
Dan we bofe can haul.
MY LI’L JOHN HENRY
Iron Head, admittedly the “roughest nigger that ever walked the streets of Dallas,” was sorry for the mighty John Henry.
“Oh, where’d you git yo’ learnin’? Please tell it to me.”
“On de Gulf, Colorado, and de Santa Fe.”
Oh, my li’l John Henry,
Godamighty know,
Oh, my li’l John Henry,
Godamighty know.
SHORTY GEORGE
Along by the Central State Prison near Sugarland, Texas, runs a narrow-gauge track, and down that track about sunset comes whistling a little gasoline motor car. It is on this train that the women who have come out for a Sunday with their men-folks leave the prison. “Case it’s such a runty li’l train,” the convicts have named it Shorty George, but they sing about it as if it were one of those favored men, like John Henry, who can get a woman by a crook of the finger.
Iron Head, in prison for life and not subject to reprieve or pardon, since he is classed as an “habitual criminal,” broke down and cried while he sang “Shorty George.” “My woman, she’s sca’d to come to see me; she might as well be dead. So I gets res’less, an’ I want to run away f’um dis place. I jes’ cain’ hardly stan’ to sing dat song.”
Well-a, Shorty George, he ain’ no friend of mine,
Well-a, Shorty George, he ain’ no friend of mine,
Taken all de womens an’ leave de mens behin’.
Oh, when I get back to Dallas, gonna walk an’ tell,
Dat de Fort Ben’ bottom is a burnin’ Hell.
My mama died when Ise a lad,
An’ ev’y since, I been to de bad.
Well, my babe caught de Katy, I caught de Santa Fe,
Well, you cain’ quit me, babe, cain’ you see?
Well, I wen’ to Galveston, work on de Mall’ry Line,
Babe, you cain’ quit me, ain’ no use you tryin’.
Got a letter f’um my baby, “Come, at once, she’s dyin’”—
She wasn’ dead, she was slowly dyin’.
How kin you blame po’ man f’um cryin’,
When his babe ain’ dead, but slowly dyin’?
Well, I followed her down to de buryin’ groun’,
You oughta heered me holler, when dey let her down.
I took my babe to de buryin’ groun’;
I never knowed I loved her, till de coffin soun’.
I wen’ to de graveyard, peeped in my mama’s face,
“Ain’ it hard to see you, mama, in dis lonesome place?”
THE “CHOLLY”* BLUES
When I was out in West Texas, I was goin’ f’um do’ to do’,
I was broke an’ was hungry, didn’ have no place to go,
An’ da’s de reason, baby, I jes’ wants to know,
Kin I lay down here until day?
I’m a stranger in yo’ town, ain’ got no place to stay.
The Negro laborer, drifting from town to town and from job to job, makes his appeal for sympathy—and a soft bed. Perhaps, he plucks by the elbow some woman who passes him on the street, and begs her to take him home.
Broke an’ hungry, ragged an’ dirty too,
Broke an’ hungry, ragged an’ dirty too,
Jes’ wants to know, baby, kin I go home wid you?
Good ol’ boy, honey, jes’ ain’ treated right,
Good ol’ boy, honey, jes’ ain’ treated right,
Freezin’ groun’ was my foldin’ bed las’ night.
Well, my mama sick, baby, an’ my papa dead,
Well, my mama sick, baby, an’ my papa dead,
An’ I ain’ got nobody to pity po’ me, po’ me.
Big bell keeps a-ringin’, lil bell fairly tone,
Big bell keeps a-ringin’, lil bell fairly tone,
I’m a-lonely, lonely, lonely, an’ a long ways f’um home.
Dey tell me de graveyard is a long ol’ lonesome place,
Dey tell me de graveyard is a long ol’ lonesome place,
Puts you six feet in de hard groun’, throws clods all in yo’ face.
Dig my grave, baby, wid a silver spade,
Dig my grave, baby, wid a silver spade,
An’ let me down, pretty mama, wid a golden chain.
What makes you hol’ yo’ head so high?
What makes you hol’ yo’ head so high?
Any way you hol’ it, baby, da’s de way you gonna die.
I ain’ good-lookin’, ain’ got no grea’ long hair,
I ain’ good-lookin’, ain’ got no grea’ long hair,
But I got ways, pretty mama, dat take me everywhere.
When I go a-fishin’, I take my hook an’ line,
When I go a-fishin’, I take my hook an’ line,
But when I go a-courtin’, I go wid a willin’ min’.
I ain’ no doctor, babe, ain’ no doctor’s son,
I ain’ no doctor, babe, ain’ no doctor’s son,
But I kin cool yo’ fever, babe, till de doctor come.
....................
Come on, babe, le’s ease out on de edge o’ town,
Come on, babe, le’s ease out on de edge o’ town,
Got a shack out dere, an’ I know it won’ break down.
....................
Don’ min’ marryin’, babe, do, Lawd, settlin’ down!
Don’ min’ marryin’, babe, do, Lawd, settlin’ down!
Gwine pack my suitcase, babe, an’ ride f’um town to town.
....................
I’s tired of livin’, pretty mama, I don’ know what to do,
I’s tired of livin’, pretty mama, I don’ know what to do,
You is tired of me, babe, an’ I is tired of you.
I was settin’ down here wond’rin’,—would a matchbox hol’ my clo’es,
I was settin’ down here wond’rin’,—would a matchbox hol’ my clo’es,
Don’ want no suitcase, pretty mama, on my lonesome road.
Down de road somewhere, down de road somewhere,
Down de road somewhere, down de road somewhere,
I’ll fin’ me a woman, babe, an’ roam no’ mo’.
Chorus:
Fare thee, O babe, fare thee well,
Fare thee, O babe, fare thee well,
I done all I could do,
Try’n’ to git along with you.
So fare thee, O babe, fare thee well.
I love you, black gal, God knows I do,
I love f’um yo’ head to yo’ feet and clean th’ough,
So fare thee, O babe, fare thee well.
I love you, black gal, God knows I do,
’Fo’ I’ll be mistreated I’ll kill myself an’ you.
So fare thee, O babe, etc.
I’m packin’ my trunk, my satchel, too,
Caze Ise a-gwine ’way jes’ as far as I kin f’um you.
Dat eas’-boun’ train done blowed an’ gone,
An’ Ise a-gwine too, jes’ as sho’ as you a’ bo’n.
I been as good as a man could be,
But I done foun’ out dat you jes’ ain’t true to me.
I done foun’ out you don’t want me ’roun’,
Caze de meals dey ain’t cooked, an’ de bed ain’t turned down.
I treats you right an’ I treats you white,
But I jes’ can’t please yuh, try hard as I might.
You eats good grub, wears fine clo’s, too;
Now what mo’ in dis wide worl’ kin a po’ man do.
’Tain’t no use to weep, no use to whine,
I done tol’ you once, tol’ you las’, an’ now Ise gwine.
You’s a good gal when I fus’ met you,
But now, ol’ gal, done foun’ out you jes’ won’ do.
I’m gwine somers, dunno where Ise gwine,
Ise gwine somewhere so’s t’ git you out my min’.
I love you, black gal, de people know,
Ise leavin’ you, ol’ gal, but it breaks m’ heart to go.
ALABAMA-BOUND*
A barrel-house conversation. This song has been popular amongst both whites and blacks for several decades. We give the levee-camp version, as sung by Bowlegs, a prisoner at Parchman, Mississippi.
I’m Alabama-boun’, (2)
Ef de train don’ run, I got a mule to ride.
My home ain’ here, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
My home ain’ here.
Make me drunk ag’in, (2)
Ef you catch me gettin’ sober, babe,
Make me drunk ag’in, I’m a windin’ ball.
Great Godamighty, babe,
Don’ deny my name.
If you married woman, you got no business here,
But if you are single, babe,
Let’s buy some bottled beer, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
Let’s buy some bottled beer.
Way down de road somewhere, (2)
I got a long, tall, teasin’ brown,
Way down de road somewhere, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
Way down de road somewhere.
I tol’ you once, you done been tol’,
Takes a long, tall, brown-skin man
To satisfy my soul, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
To satisfy my soul.
She’s long an’ tall, an’ she’s thin an’ slim,
She’s got a hump on her back like a camel, babe,
She make a panther squall, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
She make a panther squall.
Her hair ain’ curly, an’ her eyes ain’ blue,
Ef you don’ want me, honey babe,
I don’ want you, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
I don’ want you.
Ef dat’s yo’ man, pin him to yo’ side,
For if he mounts dis train, O babe,
Great Godamighty, babe,
Sho gonna let him ride.
Ef you got a good woman, an’ she won’ treat you right,
You can knock ’er down, stomp on ’er, cut ’er head,
An’ walk de streets all night, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
An’ walk de streets all night.
Ef you got a good man, an’ he won’ treat you right,
Hit ’im in de head wid a burnin’ lamp,
An’ walk de streets all night, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
An’ walk de streets all night.
***
Well, it’s a dirty shame, (2)
To see dese woman spendin’ money,
An’ it’s for cocaine, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
An’ it’s for cocaine.
Why doncha be like me? (2)
Drink yo high-tension whisky, babe,
An’ let yo’ cocaine be, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
An’ let yo’ cocaine be.
***
Doctor Cook’s in town, (2)
Says, “De North Pole’s too dog-gone col’.
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
I’m Alabama-bound.”
“Where was you, sister, when de Titanic wen’ down?”
“On de back of my ol’ gray mule,
Alabama-bound, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
Alabama-bound.”
***
Oh, here I am, rap an’ bottled beer,
Ef I happen to git drunk an’ down,
Doncha leave me here, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
Doncha leave me here.
Ef dey don’ nab me, ’fo’ de sun goes down,
I swear to my Almighty God,
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
I’m Alabama-bound.
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Ole George is good an’ dead,
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
I’m Alabama-bound.
Doncha leave me here, (2)
Ef you leave me, honey babe,
Leave me a dime for beer, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
Leave me a dime for beer.
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Jus’ as sho as de train goes out eas’ today,
I’m Alabama-bound, (2)
Great Godamighty, babe,
I’m Alabama-bound.
* We are indebted to the books of Professor Newman I. White, Professor Howard Odum, and Professor Guy Johnson throughout this section.
* The air comes from a Negro boy in Wiergate, Texas.
* Carl Sandburg’s The American Songbag.
* Bummer; tramp.
* We include in this version stanzas from Professor White’s Folk Songs of the American Negro, from a collection made twenty years ago, and from the singing of prisoners in Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi.