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.
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.
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.