Ef you niggers don’t watch, you’ll sing anudder chune,
Fer de sun’ll rise’n ketch you ef you don’t be mighty soon;
En de stars is gittin’ paler, en de ole gray coon
Is a settin’ in de grape-vine a watchin’ fer de moon. 
W’en a feller comes a knockin’
Des holler—­Oh, shoo! 
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo! 
Oh, swing dat yaller gal! 
Do, boys, do! 
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!

Oh, tu’n me loose!  Lemme ’lone!  Go way, now! 
W’at you speck I come a dancin’ fer ef I dunno how? 
Deze de ve’y kinder footses w’at kicks up a row;
Can’t you jump inter de middle en make yo’ gal a bow? 
Look at dat merlatter man
A follerin’ up Sue;
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo! 
De boys ain’t a gwine
W’en you cry boo hoo—­
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!

VII.  TRANSCRIPTIONS 1

1.  A PLANTATION CHANT

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-fo’,
Christ done open dat He’v’mly do’—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-five,
Christ done made dat dead man alive—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—­
Run home, dat sun done roll—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-six,
Christ is got us a place done fix—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-sev’m
Christ done sot a table in Hev’m
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—­
Run home, dat sun done roll—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-eight,
Christ done make dat crooked way straight—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-nine,
Christ done tu’n dat water inter wine—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—­
Run home, dat sun done roll—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-ten,
Christ is de mo’ner’s onliest fr’en’—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit’s eighteen hunder’d forty-en-lev’m,
Christ ‘ll be at de do’ w’en we all git ter Hev’m—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer. 
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—­
Run home, dat sun done roll—­
An’ I don’t wanter stay yer no longer.

1 If these are adaptations from songs the negroes have caught
   from the whites, their origin is very remote.  I have
   transcribed them literally, and I regard them as in the
   highest degree characteristic.

2.A PLANTATION SERENADE

DE ole bee make de honey-comb,
De young bee make de honey,
De niggers make de cotton en co’n,
En de w’ite folks gits de money.

De raccoon he’s a cu’us man,
He never walk twel dark,
En nuthin’ never ’sturbs his mine,
Twel he hear ole Bringer bark.