CHORUS
Den lay down de shubel an' de hoe, Den hang up de fiddle an' de bow; For dere's no more hard work for poor Uncle Ned He's gone whar de good niggahs go. His fingers war long, like de cane in de brake, And his eyes war too dim for to see; He had no teeth to eat de corn cake, So he had to let de corn cake be. |
CHORUS.
His legs were so bowed dat he couldn't lie still. An' he had no nails on his toes; His neck was so crooked dot he couldn't take a pill, So he had to take a pill through his nose. |
CHORUS.
One cold frosty morning old Uncle Ned died, An' de tears ran down massa's cheek like rain, For he knew when Uncle Ned was laid in de groun', He would never see poor Uncle Ned again, |
In the hands of this artist the song became—
CHORUS.
There was an aged and indigent African whose cognomen was Uncle Edward, But he is deceased since a remote period, a very remote period; He possessed no capillary substance on the summit of his cranium, The place designated by kind Nature for the capillary substance to vegetate. |