I paid my fare den up to town,
On de coach to cut a dash,
De axletree soon gave way,
And spilt us wid a smash.
I lighted den upon my head,
All in de nassy dirt,
Dey all thought dat I war dead,
But I laughed and wasn’t hurt.
Dis head you know, am pretty tick,
Cause dere it make a hole,
On de dam macadmis road,
Much bigger dan a bowl.
When I got into Lunnon,
Dey took me for a savage,
But I war pretty well behaved,
So I ’gaged with Mr. Davidge.
Dem young Jim Crows bout de streets
More like a Raven rader,
Pray good people, don’t mistake,
Indeed, I’m not dare fader.
Dem urchin’s what sing my song,
Had better mind dar books.
For any how dey can’t be Crows,
You see d’ar only Rooks.
I have purposely refrained from giving any Nigger songs, although they belong to Street melody, except in the case of “Jim Crow,” which was the first of the flood which has been let loose upon us. There were many versions, but I have here given the copyright words, as sung by the author, and original “Jim Crow,” Thomas D. Rice, or, as he was better known, “Adelphi Rice.” He introduced it, in 1836, into a play called “A Flight to America,” and it so tickled the ears of the groundlings that it became the most popular of all modern street ballads. We may wonder what merit our grandfathers and fathers found in it, but it created an absolute furore.
THE WORKHOUSE BOY.
The cloth was laid in the Vorkhouse hall,
The great-coats hung on the white-wash’d wall;
The paupers all were blithe and gay,
Keeping their Christmas holiday,
When the Master he cried with a roguish leer,
“You’ll all get fat on your Christmas cheer!”
When one by his looks did seem to say,
“I’ll have some more soup on this Christmas-day.”
Oh the poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc.