Br'er Scare-crow's built to suit 'is job
Wid flappin' legs an' arms dat bob;
He ain't got brains for discontent
So he works widout no argument.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Dey's a sweet plantation, yaller-buff rose
Dat in my ricollection grows;
In my ol' dreams she seems to wait
Whar she stood an' bloomed by de love-vine gate
An' I ain't by myself in dreams like dat—
No, I ain't by myself in dat.
Sis' Twis'-horn Brindle is a bothersome cow,
She's boun' to raise a ruction an' she don't keer how;
She craves to be de bell-cow an' lead off wid a clang,
So it's all a man kin do to make 'er gallup wid de gang.
An' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat—
An' she ain't by 'erself in dat.
De sugar-cane stands so proud an' smart,
You'd nuver suspicion it sweet at de heart,
But to prove its sweets it yields its will
To be tried by fire an' ground in de mill.
An' it ain't by itself in dat, in dat—
No, it ain't by itself in dat.
Sence he los' 'is brains to git 'is smile,
Brer Jack-o-lantern grins lak a wilderin' chile
Widout no secrets out or in;
An' de lighter in de head de broader 'is grin
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
| |
Ef de Wul o' de Wust would cuss an' swear
An' take some shape, an' rip an' tear,
It wouldn't sen' col' chills down a nigger's spine
Like de changeable expression of a mystery shine.
An' it ain't by its ghostly self in dat—
No, it ain't by itself in dat.
De blind mole tunnels straight ahead, | |
You'll sometimes trace de loudes' grunt
In de horg-lot down to de littles' runt,
Lak as ef he'd 'nounce whilst he gulps 'is swill,
"A pompious horg is as big as 'is will."
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
De organ plays an' Br'er Monkey struts,
An' he takes high pride in de capers he cuts,
While folks draps picayunes into 'is han'
For fallin' so short o' bein' a man.
An' he ain't by 'isself, misled like dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Dat three-name chicken wid de feathery legs
Wha' 'merged f'om de ten dollar settin' of eggs,
Is a lonesome bird an' I s'picion he frets
'Ca'ze he can't outgrow dem pantalettes.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er Crawfish th'ows a racklass bluff,
An' he sho do look like fightin' stuff;
But turn 'im loose on a battle-groun',
An' he'll bow 'isself out, an' nuver turn roun'.
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
"I could stand de hook," says de angleworm,
"An' a lily-brook wouldn't make me squirm,
But I can't help wrigglin' ag'in' my fate;
It breaks me all up to be used for bait."
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Wid 'is nest in de flue whar de suctions blow,
Storms due above an' fire below,
No wonder Br'er Swaller sags an' sways
Like a pusson ableeged to dodge bofe ways.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Little picaninnies, fishin' in de doodle-bug holes.
Wid a "spit for luck," an' straws for poles,
Show pyore delight in de fisherman's aim
All disp'opo'tioned to de game.
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat—
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat.
Sis' Porcupine, wid 'er bristles all set
In a pompado' style, is waitin' yet,
An' she can't understan', whilst she puckers 'er mug,
De sca'city o' kisses an' de absent hug.
But she ain't by 'er lonesome self in dat—
No, she ain't by 'erself in dat.
| |
Sis' Tin-cage Polly wid de roamin' nose | |
Br'er Rattle-snake rattles befo' he springs,
But he warns too late to 'scape 'is stings;
His high-class manners don't count for much
'Ca'ze dey grafted on to a sarpent's touch.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Is you little gals, growin' into women,
Ever tasted a snappy young persimmin?
It takes a hard frost to make it sweet,
An' it's ol' an' swiveled 'fo' it's fit to eat!
But it ain't by itself, sharp chillen, in dat—
No, it ain't by itself in dat.
Dat flee-bitten mule an' my bay mare
In de hay-wagon, sho is a mixtious pair;
But dey's pulled so long th'ough wind an' weather
Dat out in de field dey graze together.
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat—
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat.
De little yaller cage-bird preems 'is wings
An' he mounts 'is pyerch an' sings an' sings;
He feels 'is cage, but I s'pec' he 'low
To take what comes an' sing anyhow!
An' you ain't by yo'self, little bird, in dat—
No, you ain't by yo'self in dat.
Br'er Pole-cat's got a s'ciety smile
An' he sho is dressed in scrumptious style,
But he keeps 'is own hat off de quality rack
By de scan'lous way he answers back.
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
It ain't how many eyes you got,
'Les' needles could see an' potatoes, too;
An' "hookin' a' eye," as like as not,
Would be classed as a sin dat no lady'd do.
But it's keepin' yo' eyes turned to'des de right,
An' to'des de wrong jes' shettin' 'em tight—
Lookin' out for ways to be polite—
Dat's de way my lady'd do!
It ain't how many ears you got
Dat makes you listen an' learn an' do;
Else a hill o' corn in a garden plot
Would be 'way ahead o' me an' you;
But it's shettin' yo' ears to heartless speech,
An' listenin' whilst de teachers teach,
An' strivin' to practise mo' 'n to preach—
Dat's de way my lady'll do!
It ain't how many tongues you got,
'Les' shoes would talk an' wagons, too;
An' all de bells would gabble a lot,
An' tattle an' brag de long day th'ough;
But it's gyardin' yo' tongue f'om talk dat's wrong,
An' passin' a helpful word along,
An' maybe singin' a hopeful song—
Dat's de way my lady'll do!
Said de mammy alligator, wid a motherly grin:
"I nuver liked babies wid dey dimples tucked in,
But our little pet, wid its horny hide,
Like its mammy's an' its daddy's, is de fam'ly pride."
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat—
An' dey ain't by deyselves in dat.
Sis' Mush A. Roon sprung up over night
An' to name whar she sprung f'om ain't polite;
But she spreads 'erself wuss'n me or you,
An' wid on'y one foot to stan' on, too.
An she ain't by er new-come self in dat—
No, she ain't by 'erself in dat.
Cunnin' little donkey-baby—
"Ye-haw! Ye-haw!" What a funny laugh!
Soun' jes like a creaky, cranky
Seesaw—seesaw!
Wasn't nothin' funny roun' dat
We saw—we saw!
'Tel we glimpsed de stagger-gait dat
He saw—he saw!
Brindle strikin' swagger-gait when
She saw—she saw—her wibbly wabbly calf!
Den we j'ined wid Mister Donkey,
"He-haw! He-haw!" How we-all did laugh!
But we laughed at some'h'n' mo' dan
He saw—he saw!
Donkey couldn't see de ears dat
We saw—we saw!
Rabbit lopin' down de road, we
Three saw—three saw!
Wagged his ears an' called him daddy!
"Haw-haw! Haw-haw!" How dat—who dat laugh?
An' de last to see de joke was wibbly wabbly calf!
Ol' Gobbly struts aroun' de stable
An' th'ows out hints o' de rich man's table,
An' he h'ists his tail an' spreads it wide,
To display his cuyus graveyard pride.
But he ain't by 'isself in pride like dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
When de cabbage got ambitiom, in a uppish hour
An' lost 'is head an' bu'st into flower
Wid 'is brains outside, an addled, at dat—
He sot 'isself up for a 'ristocrat.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Sis' Dominick follers her brood o' ducks
To de bayou's edge, an' she clucks an' clucks:
'Dis stepmammy job, oh me, oh me!
Ain't all dat it's quacked up to be!"
But she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat—
But she ain't by 'erself in dat.
Ol' Br'er Frog ain't much to sing,
But he clairs a log in a single spring,
An' jedgin' 'im by his bigoty ways,
He's clean forgot 'is tadpole days!
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er Rat in de corn-bin over-fed
An' under-worked, an' now he's dead;
He craved to live lak a bloated chief,
An' now he ain't nothin' but a ol' dead thief.
An' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er mockin'-bird sings in de live-oak shade, | |
Dey's many a musharoon good to de tas'e
An' rich for de table, dat goes to was'e
'Ca'ze folks don't dast to gether it in
For de way it favors its dung-hill kin.
An' it ain't by itself condemned like dat—
No, it ain't by itself in dat
When Br'er Measurin'-worm strikes out so brave,
Makin' tend he kin measure you for yo grave,
Wid all 'is stride an' all 'is stren'th
He can't measure mo'n 'is own little len'th.
An' he ain't by 'isself made cheap like dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself like dat.
Hit's a proper pride in Sis' Top-knot's breast
Dat makes 'er step to march 'er crest;
Yit jalousy follers 'er 'roun' de shed
On de count o' dat innercent tufted head.
An' she ain't by 'erself pursued lak dat—
No, she ain't by 'erself in dat.
De cantelope gits mighty bilious
F'om runnin' wid punkins too familias,
So it's banished out for its sociable sin
Along wid its yaller kitchen kin.
An' it ain't by itself in dat, in dat—
An' it ain't by itself in dat.
Br'er 'Possum makes pertend he's dead
Whilst shots goes whizzin' over 'is head.
But time de hounds is out o' sight,
He's up an' "hongry for a fight!"
An' he ain't by 'isself in a bluff like dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
| |
De camelia-lizard is a turn-coat man,
An' he borries his colors where dey's "room to stan'";
He mought keep solid as a county candidate,
But you couldn't sca'cely find 'im on a map o' de State.
But he ain't by 'isself lost out, like dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Whilst she eats de groun' f'om onder 'er feet,
Sis' Caterpillar's weavin' 'er windin'-sheet;
But 'er red eyes shine an' 'er grass-green-hair,
An' 'er short life's bright, so she don't care.
An' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat—
An' she ain't by 'erself in dat.
Ol' Dr. Drake wid 'is college waddle
An' Latin inscriptioms on 'is noddle,
Would part wid 'is gait an' 'is shimmerin' back
To perscribe a crowin'-powder an' nuver say "Quack!"
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er Peacock 'lows he's a 'ristocrat,
Wid mighty fine clo'es, an' vain at dat;
He'll answer yo' glance wid col' surprise
An' look you over wid a thousan' eyes!
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er Alligator kin grin a mile,
But dey ain't no inducemint in his smile;
Whilst he ain't no race-horse, yit dey say
A little alligator goes a mighty long way.
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.
Br'er Tarrapin draws in 'is head so knowin',
You can't tell whether he's comin' or goin',
But his mind ain't mixed—he's layin' low
Tel he sees which way he's obleeged to go.
An' he ain't no new politician in dat—
No, he ain't by 'isself in dat.