En all de patience in de worl’ to wait fer dem to bite;
He cotch Eve wid a apple, en ole Adam wid de core,
Changed his bait en went on fishin’, en he kep’ a-ketchin’ more;
De sinners breed tremendous fas’ en cum a-swimmin’ by,
He drap de hook, dey dive en bite, he lan’ ’um high en dry.
En he sets dar still a-fishin’, wid a wicked, sinful look,
En des to hoodoo niggers, he hangs chickens on his hook,
Er a great, big watermelon, er a white man’s ’tater hill,
Er sump’n des ez certain ter be swallered pas’ de gill.
So mo’ners, turn yo’ haids away, keep lookin’ to de right,