En cut me de toughes’ en keenes’ you c’n fine anywhah on de place.
I’ll larn you, Mr. Wi’yam Joe Vetters, ter steal en ter lie, you young sinner,
Disgracin’ yo’ ole Christian mammy, en makin’ her leave cookin’ dinner!
Now ain’t you ashamed er yo’se’f, sur? I is. I’s ’shamed you’s my son!
En de holy accorjan angel he’s ’shamed er wut you has done;
En he’s tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red letters—
“One water-million stoled by Wi’yam Josephus Vetters.”
En wut you s’posen Brer Bascom, yo’ teacher at Sunday school,
’Ud say ef he knowed how you’s broke de good Lawd’s Gol’n Rule?
Boy, whah’s de raisin’ I give you? Is you boun’ fuh ter be a black villiun?