CARE IN BREAD-MAKING
W'en you sees dat gal o' mine,
Jes tell 'er fer me, if you please,
Nex' time she goes to make up bread
To roll up 'er dirty sleeves.
WHY LOOK AT ME?
What's you lookin' at me fer?
I didn' come here to stay.
I wants dis bug put in yō' years,
An' den I'se gwine away.
I'se got milk up in my bucket,
I'se got butter up in my bowl;
But I hain't got no Sweetheart
Fer to save my soul.
A SHORT LETTER
She writ me a letter
As long as my eye.
An' she say in dat letter:
"My Honey!—Good-by!"
DOES MONEY TALK?
Dem whitefolks say dat money talk.
If it talk lak dey tell,
Den ev'ry time it come to Sam,
It up an' say: "Farewell!"