And it’s better to have a nayger’s hue
Than a liver that’s wake and white.
Though Sambo’s black as the ace of spades,
His finger a thrigger can pull,
And his eye runs sthraight on the barrel-sights
From under its thatch of wool.
So hear me all boys darlin’,
Don’t think I’m tippin’ you chaff,
The right to be kilt we’ll divide wid him
And give him the larger half.