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Negro Poems, Melodies
Gwine to the ball, Liz,
In your buckram gown? You will be a belle, Liz,
With your eyes of brown, You will be a belle, Liz,
You are fair and tall, Gwine to the ball, Liz,
Gwine to the ball.
GWINE TO SEE MY GAL
Rastus had a rival
For Miss Matilda's hand, He played the second fiddle
In the Ethiopian band; And Henry started singing
As he gave his bow a whirl— Tomorrow am a coming
And I'm gwine to see my girl.
And Rastus heard him singing
And Rastus saw his smile, And that roused Rastus' anger
And that roused Rastus* bile; And Rastus started singing
As he soaked him on the head— Tomorrow am a coming
And you am gwine to be dead.