O mama, she cried all night long.
Well, she wiped her tears off,
Say, son, she won’t cry no more.
Mama come to the road, Lawd,
See her son on the gang.
I tol’ her not to bother,
Lawd, cause I got short time.
Once on the gang or in the jail continuous song is not unusual. Waking folk with song in early morning, chanting after meal time, plaintive in the evening, the Negro lives over his past life, gives expression to his feelings, and plans the new day, “standin’ on rock pile with ball an’ chain,” or “standin’ on rock pile, with hammer in my hand.” He sings of past days, sorrows that some other man will get his girl, boasts a woman in the white man’s yard—
My gal she bring me chicken,
My gal she bring me ham,