  Mistah Cotton come toh me In de young spring-time, En he say, say he toh me, "Sambo, bet yuh dime, Dat you'll never pick dat patch! Dat I'll fool yuh crap, Fer de weeds'll make a catch En de bolls'll drap!" Den I chase him up en down, En I take his bet; Chop dat cotton clar toh town; How dis niggah sweat! En I plow him sho'ly fine,— Wo'k him day en night, En de fust t'ing, how he shine Wid de rows ob white! Mistah Cotton, doan't yuh t'ink Yuh kin fool me now; I'll dis pick yuh quick es wink,— Lemme show yuh how! Pile yuh in de wagon-bed, Sell yuh, ting a ling! How de silvah-dallahs spread Dat sweet song dey sing! Don't use a telescope to discover your neighbor's faults. Even the sun has a few spots, but it would be a cold day for you without the glory of his shine. |
|
