’We’ve gut an awful row to hoe
In this ‘ere job o’ reconstructin’;
Folks dunno skurce which way to go,
Where th’ ain’t some boghole to be ducked in;
But one thing’s clear; there is a crack,
Ef we pry hard, ‘twixt white an’ black,
Where the ole makebate can be tucked in. 390

’No white man sets in airth’s broad aisle
Thet I ain’t willin’ t’ own ez brother,
An’ ef he’s happened to strike ile,
I dunno, fin’ly, but I’d ruther;
An’ Paddies, long ’z they vote all right,
Though they ain’t jest a nat’ral white,
I hold one on ’em good ’z another,
                  [Applause.]

’Wut is there lef I’d like to know,
Ef ‘tain’t the defference o’ color,
To keep up self-respec’ an’ show 400
The human natur’ of a fullah? 
Wut good in bein’ white, onless
It’s fixed by law, nut lef’ to guess,
We’re a heap smarter an’ they duller?

’Ef we’re to hev our ekle rights,
’twun’t du to ’low no competition;
Th’ ole debt doo us for bein’ whites
Ain’t safe onless we stop th’ emission
O’ these noo notes, whose specie base
Is human natur’, thout no trace 410
O’ shape, nor color, nor condition.
                  [Continood applause.]

‘So fur I’d writ an’ couldn’ jedge
Aboard wut boat I’d best take pessige,
My brains all mincemeat, ’thout no edge
Upon ’em more than tu a sessige,
But now it seems ez though I see
Sunthin’ resemblin’ an idee,
Sence Johnson’s speech an’ veto message.

’I like the speech best, I confess,
The logic, preudence, an’ good taste on ’t; 420
An’ it’s so mad, I ruther guess
There’s some dependence to be placed on ’t; [Laughter.]
It’s narrer, but ‘twixt you an’ me,
Out o’ the allies o’ J.D. 
A temp’ry party can be based on ’t.

‘Jes’ to hold on till Johnson’s thru
An’ dug his Presidential grave is,
An’ then!—­who knows but we could slew
The country roun’ to put in——? 
Wun’t some folks rare up when we pull 430
Out o’ their eyes our Union wool
An’ larn ’em wut a p’lit’cle shave is!

’Oh, did it seem ’z ef Providunce
Could ever send a second Tyler? 
To see the South all back to once,
Reapin’ the spiles o’ the Free-siler,
Is cute ez though an ingineer
Should claim th’ old iron for his sheer
Coz ‘twas himself that bust the biler!’
                  [Gret laughter.]

Thet tells the story!  Thet’s wut we shall git 440
By tryin’ squirtguns on the burnin’ Pit;
For the day never comes when it’ll du
To kick off Dooty like a worn-out shoe. 
I seem to hear a whisperin’ in the air,
A sighin’ like, of unconsoled despair,
Thet comes from nowhere an’ from everywhere,
An’ seems to say, ’Why died we? warn’t it, then,
To settle, once for all, thet men wuz men?