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Don't you see de black clouds
Risin' ober yonder,
Whar de Massa's old plantation am?
Neber you be frightened,
Dem is only darkies,
Come to jine an' fight for Uncle Sam,
Look out dar, now!
We's agwine to shoot!
Look out dar, don't you understand?
(Oh, don't you know dat)
Babylon is fallen!
Babylon is fallen!
An' we's agwine to occupy the land.
Don't you see the lightnin'
Flashin' in de canebrake,
Like as if we's gwine to hab a storm?
No! You is mistaken,
'Tis darkies' bay'nets,
An' de buttons on dar uniform.
Way up in the cornfield,
Whar you hear de tunder,
Dat is our ole forty-pounder gun;
When the shells are missin',
Den we load wid punkins,
All de same to make the cowards run.
Mass was de Kernel
In de Rebel army,
Eber sence he went an' run away;
But his lubly darkies,
Dey has been a-watchin',
An' dey take him pris'ner tudder day.
We will be be the Massa,
He will be the sarvant,
Try him how he like it for a spell;
So we crack de Butt'nuts,
So we take the Kernel,
So the cannon carry back de shell.
Henry Clay Work
Read poems about / on: running
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Henry Clay Work
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