Othah po'rer folks come drivin' mules dat leaned up 'ginst de shaf',
Hitched to broke-down, creaky wagons dat looked like dey'd drap in half.
But de bigges' crowd come walkin', wid der new shoes on der backs;
'Scuse wuz dat dey couldn't weah em 'cause de heels wuz full o' tacks.
Fact is, it's a job for Job, a-trudgin' in de sun an' heat,
Down a long an' dusty clay road wid yo' shoes packed full o' feet.
'Cose dey stopt an' put dem shoes on w'en dey got mos' to de do';
Den dey had to grin an' bear it; dat tuk good religion sho.
But I mos' forgot ma story,—well at las' dat Sunday came
And it seemed dat evehbody, blin' an' deef, an' halt an' lame,
Wuz out in de grove a-waitin' fu' de meetin' to begin;
Ef dat crowd had got converted 'twould a been de end o' sin.
Lize wuz der in all her glory, purty ez a big sunflowah,
I kin 'member how she looked jes same ez 'twuz dis ve'y houah.
But to make ma story shorter, w'ile we wuz a-waitin' der,
Down de road we spied a cloud o' dus' dat filled up all de air.
An' ez we kep' on a-lookin', out f'om 'mongst dat ve'y cloud,
Sam, on Marse John's big mule, Cæsar, rode right slam up in de crowd.
You jes oughtah seed dat darkey, 'clar I like tah loss ma bref;
Fu' to use a common 'spression, he wuz 'bout nigh dressed to def.