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NEGRO FOLK-SONGS |
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The more restful aspects of colored existence are lyricized in these folk-songs, as well as the hardships and vicissitudes. Sometimes the Negro decides to strike — to leave off labor and take his ease, as in the outburst sent by Professor O. W. Kern, of Randolph-Macon Woman's College, Virginia.
Ain't gwine to work no more,
Labor is tiresome shore.
Best occupation am recreation,
Life's mighty short, you know.
No use to pinch an' save,
Can't take it to your grave;
Peter won't know if you're rich or pore,
So ain't gwine to work no more.
Don't you worry, honey, ef the world goes wrong,
Oh, baby, I love you. Don't you worry, honey, ef the year seems long,
111 be true. Every cloud you know must have a silver limn'
Shinin' bright. Don't you mind a little trouble, Life is only just a bubble,
All will come right.
If the Negro philosophizes that all's well in his part of the world, he feels he has a reason for it. The optimism of the singer of the following song, sent by Professor Kern, has its explanation in the last stanza. Who would not feel contented if assured of devoted love and easy living at once?
Dat's All Right
Sometime soon, it ain't gwine to be long,
My honey's gwine to wake up, an' find me gone.
All up an' down dis ole railroad track
My honey's gwine to watch for me to come back.
Chorus Dat's all right, dat's all right, Dat's all right, babe, dat'll be all right. I'll be with you right or wrong. When you see a good thing, shove it along. Dat's all right, babe, dat'll be all right.
Went down to my honey's house, 'bout four o'clock; Knocked on de door, an' de door was locked. |
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