I hed it on my min’ las’ time, when I to write ye started,
To tech the leadin’ featurs o’ my gittin’ me convarted;
But, ez my letters hez to go clearn roun’ by way o’ Cuby,
’T wun’t seem no staler now than then, by th’ time it gits where you be.
You know up North, though sees an’ things air plenty ez you please,
Ther’ warn’t nut one on ’em thet come jes’ square with my idees:
I dessay they suit workin’-folks thet ain’t noways pertic’lar,
But nut your Southun gen’leman thet keeps his perpendic’lar;
I don’t blame nary man thet casts his lot along o’ his folks,
But ef you cal’late to save me, ’t must be with folks thet is folks;