Warn’t it more prof’table to bring your raw materil thru
Where you can work it inta grace an’ inta cotton, tu,
Than sendin’ missionaries out where fevers might defeat ’em,
An’ ef the butcher did n’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em?
An’ then, agin, wut airthly use? Nor ’t warn’t our fault, in so fur
Ez Yankee skippers would keep on a-totin’ on ’em over.
’T improved the whites by savin’ ’em from ary need o’ workin’,
An’ kep’ the blacks from bein’ lost thru idleness an’ shirkin’;
We took to ’em ez nat’ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,
An’ hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o’ vice;