A Lecture Poem by James Ephraim McGirt

Now I was gwine ter make er speech;
I see yer al begin to frown;
Dat what I say erbout yer darkies,
Yer tri ter hold each udder down.

Do I am glad you ain't de master,
De one dat sets beyaund de kies;
Or ef I wusn't your son or daughter,
I am sure I'd neber rise.

Tom's scard Dick will get er ofis;
Deck skeed Herry 'ill get er prise;
'N dat why we can't rize faster:
We've got ourselves to organize.