What dat you say? Sen’ Zeke ter school
Des kaze he ain’t bin bo’n a fool?
Now you talkin’! You ain’t heerd
’Bout George Washington T. Beard?
He wus smart, his ma tell me,
En he l’arn his A, B, C,
’Thout no’ difficult at all—
Nat’ral ez de ripe fruit fall.
En dat smartness grow on him
Fas’ ez leaves grow on de lim’,
Till at las’ de people say:
“He mus’ sholy go away
Ter de college in de town!”
’Twus a great one, I am boun’,
Whar dey teach dat young man mo’
Dan de mos’ ob niggers know.
When he reach ter gradiation,
My! Dey make a great ’miration;
En dey say: “Spite ob his race,
En dat shinin’, coal-black face,
He gwine make de people’s eyes
Open wide wid dey surprise;
Dat wus sho a good essay,
What he read fo’ us ter-day.”
En dey say dem people chee’ed
Dat George Washington T. Beard;
Say he look en ac’ ez gran’
Ez de fines’ in de lan;
Bowin’ dis en den dat way
Wid a smile dat seem ter say:
“I is ready now ter do
Somethin’ dat will ’stonish you.”
Den what nex’? He des come home—
Wait dar fo’ de chance ter come
Ter git some big job, fo’ true,
Lak falutin’ white folks do;—
Think he am too smart, you know,
Ter use axe or spade or hoe;
Or ter do work, han’ ter han’,
Wid de ignorant cullud man.

Dar he set en dar he wait,
Railin’ ’gin de nigger’s fate,
Sayin’ dat de worl’ am hard,
When we all know dat de Lawd
Make it easier, fo’ sho’,
When de man use what he know;
When he don’t des set en wait,
Railin’ allers ’gin his fate.
Ez you say, dat Zeke ob mine
Got a min’ dat sho could shine,
En dem han’s ob his kin do
Mos’ ez much ez mine, fo’ true.
He won’t neber lack fo’ bread
Wid dem han’s en wid dat head;
En I don’t sen’ him ter school
Whar he l’arn ter be a fool.