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MR. JOHNSON. Copyright, 1896, by Frank Harding Words and Music by Ben R Harney. T'other eb'ning when eb'ryting was still, oh, babe, De moon was climbin' down behind de hill, oh, 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'onight I'd a be a sport and be dead game; I gambled my money and I wasn't to name: One nigger's point was a little, a Joe, Bettin' six hits t'a quarter he could make de four; He made dat point, But, he made no more. Just den Johnson Jump'd through de door. Chorus. Oh, Mr. Johnson, turn me loose. Got no money but a good excuse; On. Mr. Johnson, I'll he good. Oh! Mr. Johnson, turn me loose; Don't take MS to de caraboose; 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 de chicken loft on my knees, Was a half way a through when de 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 Higher, Just den Johnson opened up fire. Chorus. 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 de nigger heab'n; Oh, Mr. Johnson made him good.
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