An’ men he’d hired to work de boat—an’ one to mix de bitters.
De Ark she kep’ a-sailin’ an’ a-sailin’ an’ a-sailin’;
De lion got his dander up, an’ like to bruk de palin’;
De sarpints hissed; de painters yelled; till whut wid all de fussin’,
You c’u’dn’t hardly heah de mate a-bossin’ ’roun’ an’ cussin’.
Now Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin’ on de packet,
Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an’ c’u’dn’t stan’ de racket;
An’ so, fur to amuse he-se’f, he steamed some wood an’ bent it,
An’ soon he had a banjo made—de fust dat wuz invented.
He wet der ledder, stretched it on; made bridge an’ screws an’ aprin;