| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
Christy's plantation melodies. 41
And he'd 'sure me, if I ran away and got among the Quakers,
That I would have a tract of land of several hundred acres.
So Mas' Yankee hid me in the hold, and piled the onions 'pon me;
They fairly took my breath away, and made my eyeballs burn me.
I work'd that vessel up the bay, I pull'd the rope and
sail— Massa Yankee introduced me to the cat-o'-nine-tail; He 'scharged me on the wharf, and call'd me bad black
man, And he never gave me one red cent to buy a little
dram.
And he said that if I cut up shines, and ask'd him for the pay,
That he'd notify old massa for to come and take me 'way—
So I hung about the market, and I lived on cabbage-stalk,
Till I got so goramity weak, I 'clare, I hardly walk.
I sleep into a cellar, where there's twenty darkies more ; You would think 'twas smokey moty, if you was to hear
them snore— I constant getting sick, and I think I'm getting sicker; (Young massa gave me picayune, to buy a glass of
liquor.)
But I wish that I was back again with old massa on
the bay, For I never knowed I was a fool, till since I runned
away; For I never wanted victuals, or I never wanted clothes, And I never hurt myself with work, that, goramity
knows! |
||