So w'at is de chance ma girl she 's gettin',
Don't care w'ere I look, none at all I see,
No use, I s'pose, kipin' on a-frettin',
Dough it's very hard case poor man lak me.
W'at 'll I do for bring dem here,—me?
Can't be blowin' dem to de moon—
Or buil' a dam on de reever near me
For fear we 're sure to be drownin' soon.
To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair—
Can hear heem holler, "Pass down de middle
An' dance on your partner over dere."
"To-night I can hear hees darn ole fiddle,
Playin' away on Joe Belair."
Pleasan' t'ing too, for to smell de w'isky
Off on de leetle back room—bâ oui—
Helpin' de ole folk mak' dem frisky,
Very pleasan' for dem, but not for me—
Oh! it mak' me mad, an' I 'm tire tryin'
To show how I feel, an' it 's hard to tell—
So I 'll geev' it up, for dere 's no good cryin';
'Sides w'at is de use of a two-mile smell?
Non!—I don't go dere if dey all invite me,
Or de worl' itse'f—she come to an' en'.
De Bishop hese'f, ba Gosh! can write me,
But Jo-seph Belair, he 's no more ma frien'
Can't fin' me dere if de sky come down, sir,
I rader ma girl she would never dance—
But far away, off on de Yankee town, sir,
I 'll tak' dem w'ere mebbe dey have a chance.