I’ll go back to Alabama wid a head full of nollige,
And tell de folks dare I jis cum from college;
Dey’ll take me for a lord, or somethin’ else, I’m thinkin
I’se a mighty smart nigger, but I do my own drinkin’.
New York gals, &c.
Root Hog or Die,
No. 4.
I am de greatest little darkey on de top ob de earth,
New York is my home and de place ob my birth
I do ply upon de banjo, and dar I don’t deny,
I’m bound to be a sport, boys—root hog or die.
CHORUS.
Now I’ll tell all you, boys, what you’d better stop a doing,
Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing;
Now I’ll tell all you boys, what you’d better stop a doing,
Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing.
Jog along.
De shanghai coats and de stub-toed boots,
Tight-legg’d pants, and all such fancy suits,
Big Byron collars and mustaches to de eye,
Dat’s de way to sport, boys—root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c.
Now I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud,
When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd,
Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry,
For to sing dis good old song, boys—root hog or die.