Keep silence fur yo’ betters! don’t you heah de banjo talkin’?
About de ’possum’s tail she’s gwine to lecter—ladies, listen!
About de ha’r whut isn’t dar, an’ why de ha’r is missin’:
“Dar’s gwine to be a’ oberflow,” said Noah, lookin’ solemn—
Fur Noah tuk de “Herald,” an’ he read de ribber column—
An’ so he sot his hands to wuk a-clarin’ timber-patches,
An’ ’lowed he’s gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah Natchez.
Ol’ Noah kep’ a-nailin’ an’ a-chippin’ an’ a-sawin’;
An’ all de wicked neighbors kep’ a-laughin’ an’ a-pshawin’;
But Noah didn’t min’ ’em, knowin’ whut wuz gwine to happen: