Elfie. How glad I am that I brought my banjo! [Sings.
Dar is a lubly yaller gal dat tickles me to deff;
She'll dance de room ob darkies down, and take away deir breff.
When she sits down to supper, ebery coloured gemple-man,
As she gets her upper lip o'er a plate o' "possom dip," cries,
"Woa, Lucindy Ann!" (Chorus, dear Granny!)
Chorus.
Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy! Woa, Lucindy Ann!
At de rate dat you are stuffin, you will nebber leave us nuffin; so woa, Miss Sindy Ann!
To Lady B. (who, after joining in chorus with deep emotion, has burst into tears). Why, you are weeping, dear Grandmother!
Lady B. Nay, 'tis nothing, child—but have you no songs which are less sad?
Elfie. Oh, yes, I know plenty of plantation ditties more cheerful than that. (Sings.)
Oh, I hear a gentle whisper from de days ob long ago,
When I used to be a happy darkie slave.
[Trump-a-trump!
But now I'se got to labour wif the shovel an' de hoe—
For ole Massa lies a sleepin' in his grave!
[Trump-trump!
Chorus.
Poor ole Massa! Poor ole Massa! (Pianissimo.) Poor ole Massa, that I nebber more shall see!
He was let off by de Jury, Way down in old Missouri—But dey lynched him on a persimmon tree.