I ain’t neber work, not me!
Fo’ de white trash. Kaze, you see,
I wus fetch up mighty gran’
By de bes’ folks in de lan’;—
En dey teach me how ter do
Work fo’ ladies rich ez you,
’Fo’e de wah.
“Who fetch me up?” Now, Missus, sho
I done tol’ you dat befo’!
Why a Miss wid heart ez true
Ez wus eber knowed by you;
En a face dat shine ez bright
Ez dem days so full ob light,
’Fo’e de wah.
When I sick in dem ole days,
Missus don’t des go her ways,
Leabin’ me ter cry en groan
In dat cabin all alone;
Wid her han’s she wait on me
Till I well ez I kin be,
’Fo’e de wah.
When de fus’ sweet baby come,
Blessin’ my deah Missus’ home,
’Twarn’t nobody else but me
Dressed it nice ez it could be
In a dress ob spotless white,
(Shinin’ lak de robes ob light!)
’Fo’e de wah.
En when angels, by en by,
Call dat darlin’ ter de sky,
’Twus me robe it in its bes’,
Ez I say: “Now, sleep en res’.”
Den de house wus sad erwhile
Kaze we lose our only chile,—
’Fo’e de wah.
God won’t hab dem arms ob Miss
Empty ob de mammy’s bliss,
En he fill em up wid joy—
Now a gal, en den a boy;
En deysel’s dem chillun twine
Roun’ dis happy heart ob mine,
’Fo’e de wah.
When dat jolly nigger, Ned,
Take de notion in his head
Dat he want ter marry me,
Missus say: “Well, we will see;”
En she buy him fo’ her slave
(He bin long time in his grave!)
’Fo’e de wah.
Buy him fo’ her slave, you see,
So dat he kin live wid me
In de hut whar de sweet vine
Ob de yellow jes’mine twine;
Whar de mockin’-bird all day
Sing kaze we wus glad en gay,
’Fo’e de wah.
Den dem Yankees come, you know,
En dey beat de South, fo’ sho;
Missus tell us: “You is free!
You don’t b’long no mo’ ter me.”
But us niggers up en say:
“We gwine stay right whar we stay
’Fo’e de wah!”
En we stay. We didn’t go
Ter de North lak some I know.
Dey sho thought dat dey gwine be
Rich up dar ez dey wus free;
But dey soon come back agin
Ter de lan’ whar dey had bin
’Fo’e de wah.
Missus die.—Please ’scuse dese teahs;
I mus’ cry, spite ob de yeahs,
When I min’ me ob dat day
Dat dey laid her deep away
By de willow bendin’ low,—
One she planted long ago
’Fo’e de wah.
Den dey scatter, all de res’,
Some ter eas’, en some to wes’;
One done jine de Miss on high
In de mansions ob de sky;
Dem dat’s libin’ write ter me
Ob de times dat used ter be
’Fo’e de wah.

En dey sen’s some change erlong,
Calling it “but des a song;”
But it free dis nigger, sho,
Frum a lot ob care en woe;
En it make me dream dat I
Libin in dem days gone by
’Fo’e de wah.
I is gittin weak en ole,
En I know dat soon my soul
Sho gwine heah de angels come,
Singin’, singin’, “Home, sweet home!”
En up dar my eyes gwine see
All de white folks deah to me
’Fo’e de wah.