Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay,
Boom.”
Oh rare was the revel, and well worth while |Slow philosophic calm.|
That made those glowering witch-men smile.
III. The Hope of their Religion
A good old negro in the slums of the town |Heavy bass. With a literal imitation of camp-meeting racket, and trance.|
Preached at a sister for her velvet gown.
Howled at a brother for his low-down ways,
His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.
Beat on the Bible till he wore it out,