LITTLE TOPSY'S SONG-.
Words by Elisa Cook. Music by A. R Huitchinson.
Sung with Booth & Collier's Uncle Tom's Cabin."
I 'specta I'se very wicked, that's just what I am.
Only you jist give the a chance, won't I rouse ole Sam;
Taint no use in being good, 'cos' I'se black ye see;
I neber cared for nothing yet, and nothing cared for me.
Ya. ya, ya! Miss Feely's hands dun know how to grip me,
Neber likes to do no work, and won't widout they whip me.
This is Topsy's savage songTopsy's cute And clever;
Hurrah then for the white man's right,
Topsy neber was born, neber had a moder;
'Specks I growed a nigger brat, just like any oder;
Whip me till the blood pours down-ole missus used to do it;
She said she'd cut my heart right out, but nebor could-get to it;
Got no heart I don't belieb. niggers do without 'em;
Neber heard of God or love, so can't tell much about 'em.
This is Topsy's savage songTopsy's cute and clever;
Hurrah then for the white man's right
Don't you die, Miss Evy. eke I go dead too;
I knows I'se wicked, but I'll try and be all good to you;
You have taught me better things, though I'se nigger skin:
You have found poor Topsy's heart, spite of all its sin;
Don't you die. Miss Evy. dear, else I go dead too;
Though. I'se. black, I'm sure that God will let me go wid you.
This is Topsy's human song
Under love's endeavor;
Hurrah then for the white child's work.