Copyright, 1896. by Frank Harding
Words and music by Ben K. Harney.
T'other eb'ning when eb'ryting was still, oh, babe.
De moon was climbin' down behind de hill, ob, babe;
T'ought eb'rybody was a sound asleep.
But a old man a Johnson was a on his beat, oh, babe.
I went down into a nigger crap game.
Where de coons were a gambling wid a might and main;
T'ought I'd a be a sport and be dead game,
I gambled my money and I wasn't to blame;
One nigger's point was a little a Joe,
Bettin' six bits t' a quarter he could make de four;
He made that point, but he made no more,
Just den Johnson jumped through the door.
Oh, Mr. Johnson, turn me loose, got no money but a good excuse;
Oh, Mr. Johnson, I'll be good, oh, Mr. Johnson, turn me loose,
Don't take me to de calaboose, oh, Mr. Johnson, I'll be good.
Late de other eb'ning when the sun was down, oh, babe,
I went down on old man Johnson's chicken farm, oh, babe;
Climbed in the chicken loft on my knees,
Was a half way a through when the chicken sneezed, oh, babe,
I'll tell you if you will only keep still,
'Bout a mile and a half from Louisville;
I am so nerbous dat I Can't keep still.
When I think about it I can feel a big chill,
A big black coon was a-lookin' fer chickens.
When a great big bull-dog got to raisin' the dickens;
De coon got higher, de chicken got nigher,
Just den Johnson opened up fire.
I got no chance for to be turned loose, got no chance for a good excuse;
oh, Mr. Johnson, I'll be good, and now He's playin' seben eleben,
'Way up yonder in the nigger heab'n, oh, Mr. Johnson made him good.