THE BLACK FOUR HUNDRED.
Copyright, 1897, by Spaulding & Gray.
Words And Music by Irving Jones.
There's a club called Black Four Hundred, it's composed of dead swell coons,
It's hotter than the Skidmore Guards, or the Order of Full Moons;
You'll see the latest styles and fashions when these coons parade,
They lay all other coon clubs in the shade;
You must wear pearls And diamonds If you want to be in line,
You've got to be a hot coon, and your clothing must be fine,
And when those coons turn out on Emancipation Day,
On the corners you will hear the wenches say:
See the Black Four Hundred a-coming down the street;
Now, don't those coons look hot as along the street they trot?
If you listen, you'll hear the kinkey-headed wenches say:
The Black Four Hundred are on parade to-day.
If you want to be a member, you must be an aristocrat,
You must wear patent-leather shoes, And a great big heaver hat;
For drilling and cake-walking, why, our equals can't be found,
The white folks say we're the hottest coons in town;
We're going to give a pic-nic and we're bound to have a crowd,
Because both guns and razors on the grounds will be allowed;
We're going to give a grand parade, quite early in the day,
Upon Fifth Avenue you'll hear them say;- Chorus.