Crowded Out
Nobody ain’t Christmas shoppin’
Fur his stockin’,
Nobody ain’t cotch no turkey,
Nobody ain’t bake no pie.
Nobody’s laid nuthin’ by;
Santa Claus don’t cut no figger
Fur his mammy’s little nigger.
Seems lak everybody’s rushin’
An’ er crushin’;
Crowdin’ shops an’ jammin’ trolleys,
Buyin’ shoes an’ shirts an’ toys
Fur de white folks’ girls an’ boys;
But no hobby-horse ain’t rockin’
Fur his little wore-out stockin’.
He ain’t quar’lin’, recollec’,
He don’t spec
Nuthin’—it’s his not expectin’
Makes his mammy wish—O Laws!—
Fur er nigger Santy Claus,
Totin’ jus’ er toy balloon
Fur his mammy’s little coon.