CHAPTER VII

Transcriber’s Notes

Text printed in italics in the source document has been transcribed

between _underscores_. Underlined text has been transcribed between

=equal signs=, spaced text between ~tildes~. Small capitals have been

replaced with ALL CAPITALS.

More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.

=THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA

SOCIAL STUDY SERIES=

NEGRO WORKADAY SONGS

THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA

SOCIAL STUDY SERIES

THE NEGRO AND HIS SONGS $3.00

FOLK BELIEFS OF THE SOUTHERN NEGRO 5.00

NEGRO WORKADAY SONGS 3.00

SOUTHERN PIONEERS 2.00

LAW AND MORALS 2.00

THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF HUMAN SOCIETY 2.00

SYSTEMS OF PUBLIC WELFARE 2.00

ROADS TO SOCIAL PEACE 1.50

THE COUNTRY NEWSPAPER 1.50

CHILDREN’S INTEREST IN READING 1.50

NEGRO WORKADAY SONGS

BY

HOWARD W. ODUM, Ph.D.

_Kenan Professor of Sociology and Director of

the School of Public Welfare, University of

North Carolina_

AND

GUY B. JOHNSON, A.M.

_Institute for Research in Social Science,

University of North Carolina_

[Illustration]

CHAPEL HILL

THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA PRESS

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

1926

COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY

THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA PRESS

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRESSES OF

EDWARDS & BROUGHTON COMPANY

RALEIGH

_A vast throng of Negro workaday singers, mirrors of a race_

_Workingmen in the Southern United States from highway, construction

camp, from railroad and farm, from city and countryside, a million

strong_

_A half million migrants from the South, Eastward, Northward,

Westward, and some South again_

_Negro offenders in thousand fold in local jails, county chain gangs,

state and federal prisons_

_A horde of Southern casual laborers and wanderers down that lonesome

road_

_A brown black army of “bad men”--creepers and ramblers and jamboree

breakers, “travelin’ men” de luxe_

_Itinerant full-handed musicianers, music physicianers and songsters,

singly, in pairs, quartets, always moving on_

_A host of women workers from field and home and factory at once

singers and subjects of the lonesome blues_

_A swelling crescendo, a race vibrato inimitable, descriptive index

of group character, folk urge and race power_

PREFACE

_Negro Workaday Songs_ is the third volume of a series of folk

background studies of which _The Negro and His Songs_ was the first

and _Folk-Beliefs of the Southern Negro_ was the second. The series

will include a number of other volumes on the Negro and likewise a

number presenting folk aspects of other groups. The reception which

the first volumes have received gives evidence that the plan of the

series to present scientific, descriptive, and objective studies in

as interesting and readable form as possible may be successful in a

substantial way. Since the data for background studies are, for the

time being, practically unlimited, it is hoped that other volumes,

appearing as they become available and timely, may glimpse the whole

range--from the Negro “bad man” to the æsthetic in the folk urge.

In this volume, as in previous ones, the emphasis is primarily social,

although this indicates no lack of appreciation of the inherent

literary and artistic values of the specimens presented. Indeed, so

far as possible, all examples of folk expression in this volume are

left to tell their own story. The type melodies and musical notations

are presented separately with the same descriptive purpose as the

other chapters, and they are not offered as a substitute for effective

harmonies and musical interpretation. For the purposes of this volume,

however, the separate chapters on the melodies and phono-photographic

records with musical notations are very important. It is also important

that they be studied separately, but in the light of the preceding

chapters, rather than inserted in the text to detract from both the

social and artistic interpretation of the songs enumerated.

The Seashore-Metfessel phono-photographic records and musical notations

mark an important contribution to the whole field of interpretation

of Negro music. There may be an outstanding contribution both to the

musical world and to the whole interpretation of Negro backgrounds in

the possible thesis that the Negro, in addition to his distinctive

contribution to harmony, excels also in the vibrato quality of the

individual voice. These studies were made at Chapel Hill and at Hampton

by Dr. Carl E. Seashore and Dr. Milton Metfessel of the University

of Iowa, under the auspices of the Institute for Research in Social

Science at the University of North Carolina through a special grant of

the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial. Full acknowledgment to them is

here made.

It should be kept constantly in mind that this volume, like _The Negro

and His Songs_, is in no sense an anthology or general collection,

but represents the group of songs _current in certain areas in North

Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia_, during the years

1924-25. Of course all of this collection cannot be included in this

volume; and no doubt many of the most important or most attractive

specimens extant have escaped us at this time. It is also important to

note that in this volume, as in the previous one, all specimens listed,

except lines or references otherwise designated, _were taken directly

from Negro singers_ and do not represent reports from memory of white

individuals. So far as we know none of the songs in this collection has

been published, although there are countless variations, adaptations

and corruptions of the modern blues and jazz songs represented in

the group. The songs, however, _were all sung or repeated by actual

Negro workers or singers_, and much of their value lies in the exact

transcription of natural lines, words, and mixtures. The collection

is still growing by leaps and bounds. In this volume every type is

represented except the “dirty dozen” popular models and the more formal

and sophisticated creations.

Since this volume presents a series of pictures of the Negro as

portrayed through his workaday songs it is important that all chapters

be read before any final judgment is made. Even then the picture

will not be complete. It has not been possible, of course, to make

any complete or accurate classification of the songs. They overlap

and repeat. They borrow sentiment and expression and repay freely.

Free labor song becomes prison song, and chain gang melody turns to

pick-and-shovel accompaniment. The chapter divisions, therefore,

are made with the idea of approximating a usable classification and

providing such mechanical divisions as will facilitate the best

possible presentation.

The reader who approaches this volume from the point of view of the

technical student of folk song will likely be disappointed at what

he considers the lack of discrimination displayed by the authors in

admitting so many songs which cannot be classed as strictly folk

songs. We have frankly taken the position that these semi-folk songs,

crude and fragmentary, and often having only local or individual

significance, afford even more accurate pictures of Negro workaday

life and art than the conventional folk songs. While we have spared no

effort to make the collection valuable for folk song students, we have

approached the work primarily as sociologists.

For assistance in recording the type melodies in Chapter XIV we are

specially indebted to Mr. Lee M. Brooks, and for many of the songs of

women to Mrs. Henry Odum. We wish to thank Mr. Gerald W. Johnson for

his goodness in going over much of the manuscript and making valuable

suggestions. To Dr. L. R. Wilson, Director of the University of North

Carolina Press, we are much indebted for coöperation and suggestions.

CHAPEL HILL

_January, 1926_

H. W. O.

G. B. J.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. BACKGROUND RESOURCES IN NEGRO SONGS AND WORK 1

II. THE BLUES: WORKADAY SORROW SONGS 17

III. SONGS OF THE LONESOME ROAD 35

IV. BAD MAN BALLADS AND JAMBOREE 47

V. SONGS OF JAIL, CHAIN GANG, AND POLICEMEN 71

VI. SONGS OF CONSTRUCTION CAMPS AND GANGS 88

VII. JUST SONGS TO HELP WITH WORK 118

VIII. MAN’S SONG OF WOMAN 135

IX. WOMAN’S SONG OF MAN 152

X. FOLK MINSTREL TYPES 166

XI. WORKADAY RELIGIOUS SONGS 188

XII. THE ANNALS AND BLUES OF LEFT WING GORDON 206

XIII. JOHN HENRY: EPIC OF THE NEGRO WORKINGMAN 221

XIV. TYPES OF NEGRO MELODIES 241

XV. TYPES OF PHONO-PHOTOGRAPHIC RECORDS OF NEGRO SINGERS 252

BIBLIOGRAPHY 265

INDEX TO SONGS 271

NEGRO WORKADAY SONGS

CHAPTER I

BACKGROUND RESOURCES IN NEGRO SONG AND WORK

To discover and present authentic pictures of the Negro’s folk

background as found in his workaday songs is a large and promising task

of which there are many phases. Here are spontaneous products of the

Negro’s workaday experiences and conflicts. Here are reflections of his

individual strivings and his group ways. Here are specimens of folk art

and creative effort close to the soil. Here are new examples of the

Negro’s contributions to the American scene. Here is important material

for the newer scientific interest which is taking the place of the old

sentimental viewpoint. And here is a mine of descriptive and objective

data to substitute for the emotional and subjective attitudes of the

older days.

It is a day of great promise in the United States when both races,

North and South, enter upon a new era of the rediscovery of the Negro

and face the future with an enthusiasm for facts, concerning both the

newer creative urge and the earlier background sources. Concerning

the former, Dr. Alain Locke recently has said:[1] “Whoever wishes to

see the Negro in his essential traits, in the full perspective of his

achievement and possibilities, must seek the enlightenment of that

self-portraiture which the present development of the Negro culture

offers.” One of the best examples of that self-portraiture is that

of the old spirituals, long neglected, but now happily the subject

of a new race dedication and appreciation. Now comes another master

index of race temperament and portrayal, as found in some of the

Negro’s newer creations. No less important, from the viewpoint of

sheer originality and poetic effort as well as of indices of traits

and possibilities, are the seemingly unlimited mines of workaday

songs, weary blues, and black man ballads. In a previous volume[2] we

presented a sort of composite picture from two hundred songs gathered

two decades ago and interpreted with something of prophetic evaluation.

In this volume of Negro Workaday Songs is presented a deeper mine of

source material, rich in self-portraiture and representative of the

workaday Negro.

[1] _The New Negro_, edited by Alain Locke.

[2] _The Negro and His Songs_, by Howard W. Odum and Guy B. Johnson.

In his _Peter the Czar_, violent story of “lashed sentences,” perfectly

suited to the depiction of primitive character, Klabund pictures

vividly a certain Great Enemy about whose “shivering shoulders lay

a rainbow like a silken shawl.” Digging to the syncopated rhythm of

song and fast-whirling pick, a Negro workman sings of another rainbow,

equally vivid and shoulder-draped, more concrete, personal, and real:

Ev’ywhere I look this,

Ev’ywhere I look this mo’nin’,

Looks like rain.

I got rainbow

Tied ’round my shoulder,

Ain’t gonna rain,

Lawd, ain’t gonna rain.[3]

[3] Musical notation will be found in Chapter XIV.

In addition to the poetic imagery in this seemingly unconscious

motor-minded product, one may glimpse evidences of simple everyday

experience, wishful thought, childlike faith, workaday stolidity,

physical satisfaction, and subtle humor. But he can find still more

humor and experience, with a good bit of metaphor thrown in for good

measure, in the “feet rollin’” stanza of another wanderer’s song of the

road:

I done walk till,

Lawd, I done walk till

Feet’s gone to rollin’,

Jes’ lak a wheel,

Lawd, jes’ lak a wheel.

Resourcefulness, humor, defense mechanism, imagination, all might be

found in the spectacle of a group of Negroes singing over and over

again on a hot July day the refreshing lines,

Oh, next winter gonna be so cold,

Oh, next winter gonna be so cold,

Oh, next winter gonna be so cold,

Fire can’t warm you, be so cold.

With the thermometer around a hundred, and the work of digging at hand,

this song of “parts,” with some of the singers using the words, “be so

cold, be so cold” as an echo, undoubtedly had peculiar merit.

Perhaps there have been few, if any, lines of poetry more popular than

Wordsworth’s “The light that never was on sea or land.” The Negro

worker sings of a more earthly yet equally miraculous light to guide

his pathway, when he complains,

Now ev’y time I,

Time I start ’round mountain,

My light goes out,

Lawd, Lawd, my light goes out.

I’m gonna buy me,

Buy me magnified lantern,

It won’t go out,

Lawd, Lawd, it won’t go out.

How much of symbolism is to be found in the Negro’s workaday songs?

How much subjective imagery, how much unconscious allegory? There are

abundant examples of the free use of symbolism in his love songs and

popular jazz appeals. But what does he mean when he sings,

Ever see wild cat

Hug a lion, Lawd, Lawd?

My ol’ bear cat

Turn to lion, Lawd, Lawd.

Ever see lion

Run lak hell, Lawd, Lawd?

Or contrast this simple individual song, with its humor and easy-going

rhythm, with the power and appeal of group singing. Here is a goodly

party of two-score white folk, seated at twilight under the trees in

a grove, joyous guests at a turkey dinner near the old colonial home.

There is merriment. Song and jest, toast and cheer abound. The waiters

have gone. Then from the kitchen door comes the song of Negroes,

beginning low, rising in volume, telling of the sinking of the Titanic.

What is it in that final harmony of “God moved upon the waters,”

sung by a Negro group, which silenced the merrymakers into willing

recognition that here may be perfect art and perfect effect? Does this

Negro minstrel type, rendered thus in native setting, become for the

moment the perfect expression of folk spirit and folk art?

Hundreds of verses dedicated to the business of moving about give

evidence that the trail of the black knight of the road is strewn with

spontaneous song, often turned into polished phrase. A favorite stanza

has long been descriptive of being “on road here few days longer, then

I’ll be going home.” Sung again and again, the song takes on a new form

but loses nothing of its emphatic meaning:

I’m gonna row here,

I’m gonna row here

Few days longer,

Then I’ll be gone,

Lawd, I’ll be gone.

For, says the worker, “If I feel tomorrow like I feel today, I’m gonna

pack my suitcase and walk away,” and “reason I’m workin’ here so long,

hot flambotia and coffee strong.”

Following the trail of the workaday Negro, therefore, one may get rare

glimpses of common backgrounds of Negro life and experience in Southern

communities. Here were the first real plantings of the modern blues,

here songs of the lonesome road, here bad man ballads, here distinctive

contributions in songs of jail and chain gang, here songs of white

man and captain, here Negro Dr. Jekyls and Mr. Hydes. Here are found

new expressions of the old spirituals and remnants still surviving.

Here man’s song of woman is most varied and original, and woman’s song

of man is best echoed from days and nights of other times. Here are

reflected the epics of John Henry, Lazarus, Dupree, and the others.

Here are folk fragments, cries and “hollers,” songs to help with work,

physical satisfaction and solace, the “Lawdy-Lawdy” vibrato of evening

melancholy and morning yodel. Here may be found the subliminal jazz,

rare rhythm and movement, coöperative harmony as characteristic as ever

the old spirituals revealed. Nevertheless, too much emphasis cannot be

placed upon the danger of over-interpretation, for while the workaday

songs provide a seemingly exhaustive supply of mirror plate for the

reflection of folk temperament and struggle, too much analysis must

not obscure their vividness or the beauty and value of their intrinsic

qualities.

It is important to note the extent to which the notable popular blues

of today, more formal embodiment of the Negro’s workaday sorrow songs,

have come from these workaday products. Here are true descendants of

the old worshipers who sang so well of the Rock in a weary land. And

echoing from Southern distances, from Memphis and Natchez, from New

Orleans and Macon, from Charleston and Atlanta, and from wayside roads

and camps, from jail and chain gang, come unmeasured volume of harmony,

unnumbered outbursts of song, perfect technique of plaintive appeal.

Many of the most plaintive lines of blues yet recorded were gathered

decades ago from camp and road in Mississippi before the technique of

the modern blues had ever been evolved. Eloquent successors to the old

spirituals with their sorrow-feeling, these songs of the lonesome road

have gathered power and numbers and artistic interpretation until they

defy description and record. Today the laborer, the migrant, the black

man offender constitute types as distinctive and inimitable as the old

jubilee singers and those whom they represented. Wherever Negroes work,

or loaf, or await judgment, there may be heard the weary and lonesome

blues so strange and varied as to reveal a sort of superhuman evidence

of the folk soul. No amount of ordinary study into race backgrounds,

or historical annals of African folk, or elaborate anthropological

excursions can give so simply and completely the story of this

Negro quest for expression, freedom, and solace as these low-keyed

melancholy songs.

And what names and lines, words and melodies, records and

improvisations of the new race blues! Plaintive blues, jolly blues,

reckless blues, dirty dozen blues, mama blues, papa blues,--more than

six hundred listed by one publisher and producer. Here they are--the

workaday sorrow songs, the errant love songs, the jazz lyrics of a

people and of an age--as clearly distinctive as the old spirituals. And

how like the road songs and the gang lines, straight up from the soil

again, straight from the folk as surely as ever came the old spirituals.

Samples of the growing list of blues, some less elegant, some more

aggressive, will be found in Chapter II. And of course we must not

forget the bad man blues: _Dangerous Blues_, _Evil Blues_, _Don’t Mess

With Me Blues_, _Mean Blues_, _Wicked Blues_, and most of all the

_Chain Gang Blues_, _Jail Blues_, and the _Cell-bound Blues_.

All boun’ in prison,

All boun’ in jail,

Col’ iron bars all ’roun’ me,

No one to pay my bail.

And the singer presents, as one of his standard versions of many songs,

a regular weekly calendar:

Monday I was ’rested,

Tuesday I was fined,

Wednesday I laid in jail,

Thursday I was tried,

Friday wid chain gang band,

Saturday pick an’ shovel,

Sunday I took my rest,

Monday wanta do my best.

Perhaps the most common concept found in the chain gang and road songs

and appearing here and there in all manner of song is the concept of a

letter from home, the inability to go home without “ready money,” the

attempt to borrow from the captain, or to get a parole.

Every, every mail day,

I gits letter from my mother,

Cryin’, “Son, come home,

Lawdy, son, come home.”

I didn’t have no,

No ready-made money,

I couldn’t go home,

Lawd, couldn’t go home.

A constant source of song is the conflict between actual conditions and

desirable ends, between life as it is and ideals of wishful dreaming.

“I want to go home,” says the workman, but “I don’t want no trouble

wid de walker.” The resulting product is absence from home, absence of

trouble with the captain or walker, and abundance of song.

I don’t want no trouble,

I don’t want no trouble,

I don’t want no trouble wid de walker.

Lawd, Lawd, I wanta go home.

Me an’ my buddy jes’ come,

Me an’ my buddy jes’ come,

Me an’ my buddy jes’ come here.

Lawd, Lawd, wanta go home.

Again and again the Negro wanderer portrays home, parents, brothers

and sisters, friends, as the most highly esteemed of life’s

values--striking paradox to the realism of his practice. Idealism in

song and dreams, in workaday songs as well as spirituals, alongside

sordidness in living conditions and physical surroundings, appear

logical and direct developments from the type of habitation which the

Negro common man has ever known.

The Negro “bad man” who sings sorrowfully of his mother’s admonitions

and his own mistakes, glories also in the motor-imaged refrain:

In come a nigger named Billy Go-helf,

Coon wus so mean wus skeered uf hisself;

Loaded wid razors an’ guns, so they say,

’Cause he killed a coon most every day.

A later chapter is devoted to this notable character, the “bad man,”

whose varied pictures represent a separate Negro contribution. Here are

new and worthy Negro exhibits to add to the American galaxy of folk

portraits: Railroad Bill alongside Jesse James, the Negro “bad man”

beside the Western frontiersman, and John Henry by Paul Bunyan. For

from the millions of Negroes of yesterday and as many more today, with

their oft-changing and widely varying economic and social conditions,

has come a rare and varied heritage of folk tradition, folk character,

and folk personality. Much of this might remain forever unknown and

unsung were it not for the treasure-house of Negro song, the product

of a happy facility for linking up the realities of actual life with

wishful thinking and imaginative story.

Of the grand old “saints,” white haired “Uncles” and “Aunties,” we

have viewed from near and far scores of inimitable examples. Of the

thousands of musicianers, songsters and workers, and those who sing

“down that lonesome road,” recent epochs have mirrored many. But what

of the real and mythical jamboree breakers and bad men, or of Po’

Lazarus and Stagolee, or of John Henry, “forehanded steel-drivin’ man”

and ideal of the Negro worker?

Here are rare folk figures silhouetted against a sort of shifting race

background with its millions of working folk and wanderers moving

suddenly and swiftly across the scene. A brown-black army of ramblers,

creepers, high flyers, standin’ men, all-night workers, polish men,

“stick and ready” from the four corners of the States--Lazarus, Billy

Bob Russel, Shootin’ Bill, Brady, Dupree, and the others. And then John

Henry, stately and strong in contrast, noble exponent of sturdy courage

and righteous struggle, faithful to death.

John Henry went to the mountain,

Beat that steam-drill down;

Rock was high, po’ John was small,

He laid down his hammer an’ he died,

Laid down his hammer an’ he died.

A chapter on “Man’s Song of Woman” will make but a small beginning

of a large task. Its sequel must be deferred until the lover’s

specialisms can be published with a liberal usage of the psychiatrists’

terminology. A chapter on “Woman’s Song of Man” ought also to have a

companion sequel in the book of Negro symbolism. A chapter on “Workaday

Religious Songs” can present only a small portion of those now being

sung, but will be representative of the present heritage of the old

spirituals. A chapter on the miscellaneous fragments, “hollers,”

lines, incoherent and expressive “Lawdy-Lawd-Lawds” gives one of the

best pictures of the Negro workaday character and habits. Some of

these types make a very good safety valve for the Negro singer; in a

different way their plainness may restrain the enthusiast from setting

too much “store” by all the Negro’s songs. The characters of John Henry

and Left Wing represent two types, one the mythical and heroic, the

other the real and commonplace, both typical of the Negro’s idealism

and his actual life. The examples of “movement and imagery” are as

characteristic of the Negro workaday experience as were the harmonies

and swaying of the old spirituals. They are indices to guide judgment

and interpretation of the Negro temperament. In each of these chapters,

it will be understood, only enough material is presented to illustrate

the case, including, however, always the most representative specimens

which the authors have been able to collect within their field and

time limit. Much that is similar will necessarily await publication

in volumes in which the chief objective will be preservation and

completeness rather than interpretation.

Many pictures of the workaday Negro are presented in this volume

through the medium of his songs. They are silhouetted, as it were, at

first against a complex background of Negro life and experience. The

pictures are vivid, concrete, distinct, often complete. But most of

all, perhaps, they have been _moving_ pictures. From the first glimpse

of the Negro singer with his “feet’s gone to rollin’ jes’ lak a wheel,”

to the last great scene of John Henry dying with the “hammer in his

hand,” there is marvelous movement alongside rare imagery. Sometimes

rhythm and rhyme, but always movement, have dominated the Negro’s

chief characterizations. And this movement in the workaday songs is as

much a distinctive feature as were the swaying bodies, the soothing

rhythm, and swelling harmony of the old spirituals. Picture the Negro

workingman in his song and story life and you picture him on the move.

It is scarcely possible to describe this element of movement in the

Negro workaday songs. And yet the mere citation and classification

of representative examples will suffice to point out the particular

qualities of action which might justify the added element of epic

style, if one remembers that the singer’s concept of the heroic,

while very real, is not exalted in the Greek sense. There are those

who do not feel that the Negro’s workaday songs are characterized

by the qualities of poetry; yet do they not arouse the feelings and

imagination in vivid and colorful language? The type of language

used--that is the Negro’s own. In the same way there can be no doubt of

his songs emphasizing the quality of action; his heroes and principal

figures, like his language, reflect his concepts and tell his stories.

Whether epic or heroic,

I’m the hot stuff man,

From the devil’s land,

I’m a greasy streak o’ lightning,

Don’t you see, don’t you see?

has plenty of action and imagery in it. And it is characteristic of

much of the Negro workaday style of talk, imagination, and thought.

Many of the pictures are vivid because of the action concept and the

rhyming metaphors.

In come a nigger named Slippery Jim,

None of de gals would dance wid him,

He rech in his pocket an’ drew his thirty-two,

Dem niggers didn’t run, good Gawd, dey flew.

There was also a woman, one Eliza Stone, from a bad, bad land, who

threatened to break up the jamboree with her razor but who also

“jumped in de flo’, an’ doubled up her fist, say ‘You wanter test yo’

nerve jes’ jump against this.’” Note further a varying reel of moving

characters and scenes.

Police got into auto

An’ started to chase that coon,

They run ’im from six in the mo’nin’,

Till seven that afternoon.

The coon he run so bloomin’ fas’

Till fire come from his heels,

He scorched the cotton an’ burnt the corn,

An’ cut a road through farmers’ fiel’s.

The continuous search after the workaday folk song will always provide

one of the most important guides to the “discovery” of the Negro. The

task of finding and recording accurately the folk expression is a

difficult one under most circumstances. Under certain circumstances it

is an easy task, and always an interesting one. If we keep a record

of efforts, taken at random, as experimental endeavor, in a cross

country visit through North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee and

Georgia, about ten per cent, at best, of the requests for songs will

be successful. There are other times, when setting and procedure are

worked out well, when almost one hundred per cent success would be

attained. In most instances the Negro is at his “best” when being urged

to coöperate in the rendering of his folk songs. By his “best” is meant

that he reveals a striking nature and strong personality, whether in

affirming stoutly that he knows no songs now or that he has forgotten

what he used to know. He protests vigorously that he does not sing well

enough, that he cannot say the words of songs unless he can sing, that

he cannot sing unless others are singing, that he has to be in the

spirit of the song, or that he will get some songs together and bring

them in, or that he will bring a quartet or a pal. Rarely ever does

he “produce” if let alone with only a first approach. Nor can he be

blamed. He is entirely within his own self-protecting domain, so that

his attitude may be put down, not only as a characteristic one but

also as a commendable one. He has his own fun, too, in the situation.

In general there are several types from which little success may be

expected. The more educated and sophisticated Negro not only does not

as a rule coöperate, but looks with considerable condescension upon

those who seek his help. There are many who believe that all songs

desired are for immediate transcription to printed music or phonograph

record. These are of little assistance. Others feel that some hidden

motive is back of the request. Still others for various reasons do not

coöperate. Nor will the Negro student or musician himself find ready

coöperation among his common folk who feel constrained to withhold

their folk art from the learned of their own race.

Perhaps the most striking observation that comes from the whole

experience is the seemingly inexhaustible supply of songs among the

workaday Negroes of the South. We have yet to find a “bottom” or

a limit in the work songs among the crowds of working men in one

community. Just as often as there is opportunity to hear a group of

Negroes singing at work, just so often have we found new songs and new

fragments. There is so far no exception to this rule. Likewise we have

yet to find an individual, whose efforts have been freely set forth in

the offering of song, whose supply of songs has been exhausted. Time

and time again the approach has been made, with the response, “Naw,

sir, cap’n, I don’t know no songs much,” with an ultimate result of

song after song, seemingly with no limit. Partly the singer is honest;

he does not at the time, think of many songs nor does he consider

himself a good singer; but when he turns himself “loose” his capacity

for memory and singing is astonishing.

The same general rule with reference to dialect is used in this volume

as was the case in _The Negro and His Songs_.[4] There can be no

consistency, except the consistency of recording the words as nearly

as possible as rendered. Words may occur in two or three variations in

a single stanza and sometimes in a single line. The attempt to make

formal dialect out of natural speech renders the product artificial

and less artistic. We have therefore followed the general practice

of keeping the dialect as simple as possible. Dialect, after all,

is a relative matter. It is the sort of speech which is not used in

one’s own section of the country. As a matter of fact, much of what

has passed as Negro dialect is good white Southern usage, and there

is nothing to justify the attempt to set aside certain pronunciations

as peculiar to the Negro simply because a Negro is being quoted.

Consequently we have refrained from the use of dialect in all cases

where the Negro pronunciation and the usual white pronunciation are the

same or practically the same. If the reader will grasp the basic points

of difference between Negro and white speech and will then keep in mind

the principle of economy, he will have no difficulty in following the

peculiarities of dialect.

[4] _The Negro and His Songs_, pp. 9-11, 293-94. There is a good

discussion of dialect in James Weldon Johnson’s _Book of American

Negro Spirituals_, pp. 42-46.

The principle of economy will be found to operate at high efficiency

in Negro speech. It will nearly always explain the apparent

inconsistencies in dialect. For example, the Negro often says _’bout_

and _’roun’_ for _about_ and _around_. But he might vary these to

_about_, _aroun’_, _’round_, and _around_ in a single song, depending

upon the preceding and succeeding sounds. He would say, “I’ll go ’bout

two o’clock,” but he also would say, “I went about two o’clock,”

because in the former case it is easier to say _’bout_ than _about_,

while in the latter the reverse is true.

Rhythm is also related to dialect. In ordinary speech most Negroes

would say _broke_ for _broken_, but if the rhythm in singing called for

a two-syllable sound they would say _broken_ rather than _broke_.

Very few of the popular songs which we heard twenty years ago are found

now in the same localities. The places that knew them will know them no

more. The same disappearing process is going on now, only more rapidly

than formerly because of the multitude of blues, jazz songs, and others

being distributed throughout the land in millions of phonographic

records. One of the first tasks of this volume is, therefore, to

take cognizance of these formal blues, both in their relation to the

workaday native creations and as an important segment of the Negro’s

music and his contribution to the American scene. In the next chapter

we shall proceed, therefore, to discuss the blues.

CHAPTER II

THE BLUES: WORKADAY SORROW SONGS

No story of the workaday song life of the Negro can proceed far without

taking into account the kind of song known as the blues, for, next to

the spirituals, the blues are probably the Negro’s most distinctive

contribution to American art. They have not been taken seriously,

because they have never been thoroughly understood. Their history needs

to be written. The present chapter is not a complete statement. It

merely presents some of the salient points in the story of the blues

and offers some suggestions as to their rôle in Negro life.

Behind the popular blues songs of today lie the more spontaneous

and naïve songs of the uncultured Negro. Long before the blues were

formally introduced to the public, the Negro was creating them by

expressing his gloomy moods in song. To be sure, the present use of

the term “blues” to designate a particular kind of popular song is of

recent origin, but the use of the term in Negro song goes much further

back, and the blue or melancholy type of Negro secular song is as old

as the spirituals themselves. The following song might be taken at

first glance for one of the 1926 popular “hits,” but it dates back to

the time of the Civil War.[5]

[5] Allen, Ware, and Garrison, _Slave Songs of the United States_, p.

89. This note is appended: “A very good specimen ... of the strange

barbaric songs that one hears upon the Western steamboats.”

I’m gwine to Alabamy,--Oh,

For to see my mammy,--Ah.

She went from ole Virginny,--Oh,

And I’m her pickaniny,--Ah.

She lives on the Tombigbee,--Oh,

I wish I had her wid me,--Ah.

Now I’m a good big nigger,--Oh,

I reckon I won’t git bigger,--Ah.

But I’d like to see my mammy,--Oh,

Who lives in Alabamy,--Ah.

Very few of the Negro’s ante-bellum secular songs have been preserved,

but there is every reason to suppose that he had numerous melancholy

songs aside from the spirituals. At any rate, the earliest authentic

secular collections abound in the kind of songs which have come to be

known as the blues. The following expressions are typical of the early

blues. They are taken from songs collected in Georgia and Mississippi

between 1905 and 1908, and they were doubtless common property among

the Negroes of the lower class long before that.[6]

[6] This collection was published by Howard W. Odum in the _Journal

of American Folk-Lore_, vol. 24, pp. 255-94; 351-96.

Went to the sea, sea look so wide,

Thought about my babe, hung my head an’ cried.

O my babe, won’t you come home?

I got the blues, but too damn mean to cry,

Oh, I got the blues, but I’m too damn mean to cry.

Got nowhar to lay my weary head,

O my babe, got nowhar to lay my weary head.

I’m po’ boy long way from home,

Oh, I’m po’ boy long way from home.

Ever since I left dat country farm,

Ev’ybody been down on me.

Here are blues in the making. This is the stuff that the first

published blues were made of, and some of it sounds strikingly like

certain of the latest blues records issued by the phonograph companies.

About 1910 the first published blues appeared, and since that time

they have been exploited in every imaginable form by music publishers

and phonograph companies.[7] The inter-relations between the formal

blues and the native blues will be discussed later. At present it is

necessary to take up certain questions concerning the nature of the

blues.

[7] W. C. Handy is credited with having published the first blues

(_Memphis Blues_, 1910) and with having had much to do with their

popularization. He is still writing songs. His works include _Memphis

Blues_, _St. Louis Blues_, _Beale St. Blues_, _Joe Turner Blues_,

_Yellow Dog Blues_, _Aunt Hagar’s Blues_, and others.

What are the characteristics of the native blues, in so far as they

can be spoken of as a type of song apart from other Negro songs? The

original blues were so fragmentary and elusive--they were really little

more than states of mind expressed in song--that it is difficult to

characterize them definitely. The following points, then, are merely

suggestive.

In the first place, blues are characterized by a tone of plaintiveness.

Both words and music give the impression of loneliness and melancholy.

In fact, it was this quality, combined with the Negro’s peculiar use

of the word “blues,” which gave the songs their name. In the second

place, the theme of most blues is that of the love relation between

man and woman. There are many blues built around homesickness and hard

luck in general, but the love theme is the principal one. Sometimes the

dominant note is the complaint of the lover:

Goin’ ’way to leave you, ain’t comin’ back no mo’,

You treated me so dirty, ain’t comin’ back no mo’.[8]

Where was you las’ Sattaday night,

When I lay sick in bed?

You down town wid some other ol’ girl,

Wusn’t here to hol’ my head.[9]

Sometimes it is a note of longing:

I hate to hear my honey call my name,

Call me so lonesome and so sad.[10]

I believe my woman’s on that train,

O babe, I believe my woman’s on that train.[11]

At other times the dominant note is one of disappointment:

I thought I had a friend was true;

Done found out friends won’t do.[12]

All I hope in this bright worl’,

If I love anybody, don’t let it be a girl.[13]

[8] _The Negro and His Songs_, p. 184.

[9] _Ibid._, p. 185.

[10] _Ibid._, p. 224.

[11] _Ibid._, p. 222.

[12] _Ibid._, p. 250.

[13] _Ibid._, p. 181.

A third characteristic of the blues is the expression of self pity.[14]

Often this is the outstanding feature of the song. There seems to be

a tendency for the despondent or blue singer to use the technique of

the martyr to draw from others a reaction of sympathy. Psychologically

speaking, the technique consists of rationalization, by which process

the singer not only excuses his shortcomings, but attracts the

attention and sympathy of others--in imagination, at least--to his

hard lot. The following expressions will make the point clear.[15]

[14] For a discussion of this subject, see Lomax, “Self-pity in Negro

Folk Song,” _Nation_, vol. 105, pp. 141-45.

[15] Illustrations are taken from _The Negro and His Songs_ unless

otherwise indicated.

Bad luck in de family, sho’ God, fell on me,

Good ol’ boy, jus’ ain’t treated right.

Poor ol’ boy, long ways from home,

I’m out in dis wide worl’ alone.

Out in dis wide worl’ to roam,

Ain’t got no place to call my home.

Now my mama’s dead and my sweet ol’ popper too,

An’ I ain’t got no one fer to carry my troubles to.

If I wus to die, little girl, so far away from home,

The folks, honey, for miles around would mourn.

Now it is apparent to any one familiar with the folk songs of various

peoples that the blues type, as it has been described above, is

not peculiar to the Negro, but is more or less common to all races

and peoples. So far as subject matter and emotional expression are

concerned, the lonesome songs of the Kentucky mountaineer, of the

cowboy, of the sailor, or of any other group, are representative of the

blues type. If this be so, then why was it that the Negro’s song alone

became the basis for a nationally popular type of song? The answer

to this question is, of course, far from simple. For one thing, the

whole matter of the Negro’s cultural position in relation to the white

man is involved. The Negro’s reputation for humor and good singing is

also important. Perhaps, too, the psychology of fads would have to

be considered. But, speaking in terms of the qualities of the songs

themselves, what is there about them to account for the superior status

enjoyed by the Negro’s melancholy songs?

To begin with, the Negro’s peculiar use of the word “blues” in his

songs was a circumstance of no mean importance. Much more significant,

however, was the music of the blues. The blues originated, of course,

with Negroes who had access to few instruments other than the banjo and

the guitar. But such music as they brought forth from these instruments

to accompany their blues was suited to the indigo mood. It was

syncopated, it was full of bizarre harmonies, sudden changes of key and

plaintive slurs. It was something new to white America, and it needed

only an introduction to insure its success.

But there is still another feature of the blues which is probably

responsible more than any other one thing for their appeal and

fascination, and that is their lack of conventionality, their naïveté

of expression. The Negro wastes no time in roundabout or stilted modes

of speech. His tale is brief, his metaphor striking, his imagery

perfect, his humor plaintive. Expressions like the following have made

the blues famous.

Looked down the road jus’ far as I could see,

Well, the band did play “Nearer, My God to Thee.”

Well, I started to leave an’ I got ’way down the track;

Got to thinkin’ ’bout my woman, come a-runnin’ back.

Wish to God some ol’ train would run,

Carry me back where I came frum.

I laid in jail, back to the wall:

Brown skin gal cause of it all.[16]

[16] See Perrow, “Songs and Rhymes from the South,” _Journal of

American Folk-Lore_, vol. 28, p. 190.

When the first published blues appeared, the problem for the student

of Negro song began to become complicated. It is no longer possible to

speak with certainty of the folk blues, so entangled are the relations

between them and the formal compositions. This inter-relation is itself

of such interest and importance that it demands the careful attention

of students of folk song. Only a few points can be touched upon in the

present work, but an attempt will be made at least to indicate some of

the ramifications of the subject.

There is no doubt that the first songs appearing in print under the

name of blues were based directly upon actual songs already current

among Negroes.[17] Soon after Handy began to issue his blues, white

people as well as Negroes were singing them heartily. But a song was

never sung long in its original version alone. The half-dozen stanzas

of the original often grew to a hundred or more, for many singers took

pride in creating new stanzas or adapting parts of other songs to the

new one. Sometimes publishers would issue second and third editions,

incorporating in them the best of the stanzas which had sprung up

since the preceding edition. Thus, even before the phonograph became

the popular instrument that it is today, the interplay between folk

creations and formal compositions had become extremely complex.

[17] See James Weldon Johnson, _The Book of American Negro Poetry_,

pp. x-xiv; and Dorothy Scarborough, _On the Trail of Negro

Folk-Songs_, pp. 269-70.

In the last ten years the phonograph record has surpassed sheet music

as a conveyor of blues to the public. Sheet music, however, is still

important. In fact, practically every “hit” is issued in both the

published and phonographed form. But the phonograph record obviously

has certain advantages, and it is largely responsible for the present

popularity of the blues. Most of the large phonograph companies now

maintain special departments devoted to the recording of “race blues.”

They employ Negro artists, many of whom have already earned national

reputations, and they advertise extensively, especially in the Negro

press.

In spite of the extremes to which exploitation of the blues has gone

in recent years, there is often an authentic folk element to be found

in the present-day formal productions. Some of the phonograph artists

are encouraged by their employers to sing blues of their own making.

When the artist has had an intimate acquaintance with the life of

his race and has grown up among the blues, so to speak, he is often

able to produce a song which preserves faithfully the spirit of the

folk blues. The folk productions of yesterday are likely to be found,

albeit sometimes in versions scarcely recognizable, on the phonograph

records of today. That this is the case is indicated by the following

comparison of a few of the lines and titles of songs collected twenty

years ago with lines and titles of recent popular blues songs.

LINES AND TITLES OF SONGS LINES AND TITLES OF RECENT

COLLECTED TWENTY YEARS POPULAR BLUES

AGO[18]

_Laid in jail, back to the wall._ _Thirty days in jail with my back

turned to the wall._

_Jailer, won’t you put ’nother man _Look here, mister jailer, put

in my stall?_ another gal in my stall._

_Baby, won’t you please come _Baby, won’t you please come

home?_ home?_

_Wonder where my baby stay las’ _Where did you stay last night?_

night?_

_I got my all-night trick, baby, _I’m busy and you can’t come in._

and you can’t git in._

_I’ll see her when her trouble’s _I’m gonna see you when your

like mine._ troubles are just like mine._

_Satisfied._ _I’m satisfied._

_You may go, but this will bring _I got what it takes to bring you

you back._ back._

_Joe Turner_ _Joe Turner blues._

_Love, Kelly’s love._ _Love, careless love._

_I’m on my las’ go-’round._ _Last go-’round blues._

[18] See _Journal of American Folk-Lore_, vol. 24; also _The Negro

and His Songs_.

When a blues record is issued it quickly becomes the property of a

million Negro workers and adventurers who never bought it and perhaps

never heard it played. Sometimes they do not even know that the song is

from a record. They may recognize in it parts of songs long familiar to

them and think that it is just another piece which some songster has

put together. Their desire to invent a different version, their skill

at adapting stanzas of old favorites to the new music, and sometimes

their misunderstanding of the words of the new song, result in the

transformation of the song into many local variants. In other words,

the folk creative process operates upon a song, the origin of which may

already be mixed, and produces in turn variations that may later become

the bases of other formal blues. A thorough exposition of this process

would take us far beyond the limits of this volume, but the following

instances are cited to illustrate generally the interplay between the

folk blues and the formal blues.

Here is a specimen captured from a Negro girl in Georgia who had just

returned from a trip to “Troit,” Michigan.

When you see me comin’

Throw yo’ woman out de do’,

For you know I’s no stranger,

For I’s been dere once befo’.

He wrote me a letter,

Nothin’ in it but a note.

I set down an’ writ him,

“I ain’t no billy goat.”

Standin’ on de platform,

Worried in both heart an’ soul;

An’ befo’ I’d take yo’ man

I’d eat grass like a Georgia mule.

I love my man

Lak I love myse’f.

If he don’t have me

He won’t have nobody else.

Now this song is a mixture of several popular blues. The first stanza

is from the _House Rent Blues_, and is sung practically the same as on

the phonograph record. The second stanza is from the _Salt Water Blues_

and is like the original except for the repetition in the original of

the first two lines. The third stanza is also from the _Salt Water

Blues_, but it is a combination and variation of two stanzas which go

as follows:

Sittin’ on the curbstone,

Worried in both heart an’ soul;

Lower than a ’possum

Hidin’ in a ground-hog hole.

I wrote my man,

“I ain’t nobody’s fool;

An’ befo’ I’d stand your talkin’

I’d eat grass like a Georgia mule.”

This girl does not worry over the lack of consistent meaning in the

third stanza of her song. Furthermore, as far as she is concerned,

“soul” and “mule” rhyme about as well as “fool” and “mule.” The fourth

stanza of her song, finally, is taken from _Any Woman’s Blues_, there

having been, however, a slight variation in the second line. The

original is:

I love my man

Better than I love myself;

An’ if he don’t have me,

He won’t have nobody else.

Thus in a single song we have examples of the processes of borrowing,

combining, changing, and misunderstanding through which formal material

often goes when it gets into the hands of the common folk. The

composite of four stanzas presented above has no very clear meaning in

its present form, but at that it is about as coherent as any of the

blues from which it was assembled.

Left Wing Gordon, whose story is told in Chapter XII, is a good study

in the relation of folk song and formal blues. Left Wing’s repertoire

is practically unlimited, for he appears to have remembered everything

that he has ever heard. One of his favorite expressions is

You don’t know my mind,

You don’t know my mind;

When you see my laughin’,

I’m laughin’ to keep from cryin’.

This comes from _You Don’t Know My Mind Blues_, a popular sheet music

and phonograph piece today. Left Wing sings dozens of stanzas, some

evidently from the published versions, some of his own making, ending

each one with “You don’t know my mind,” etc. Nearly all of his songs

showed this sort of mixture of formal and folk material.

As an example of the misunderstanding, deliberate twisting of the words

of a phonograph blues, or lapse of memory, the following instance may

be cited. In the _Chain Gang Blues_ this stanza occurs.

Judge he gave me six months

’Cause I wouldn’t go to work.

From sunrise to sunset

I ain’t got no time to shirk.

A Southern Negro on a chain gang recently sang it thus:

Judge he give me sentence

’Cause I wouldn’t go to work.

From sunrise to sunset

I don’t have no other clean shirt.

Examples of this kind might be multiplied indefinitely, but these will

suffice. In the notes on the songs in the various chapters of this book

will be found comments bearing upon the relation of formal blues and

folk songs.

Thus it is clear that in many cases there is a complex inter-relation

and interaction between the folk song and the formal production. But

the tendency has been on the whole for the latter to get further and

further away from folk sources. Few authors now attempt to do more than

imitate certain features of the old-time blues. In order to understand

more clearly the present situation, it is necessary to consider for a

moment the blues as they are manufactured today.

There are at least three large phonograph companies which give special

attention to Negro songs. They will be designated herein as “A,” “B,”

and “C.” The following table, compiled from data obtained from the

general “race record” catalogs of these three companies, gives an idea

of the importance of the blues.

+--------+------------+-------------+-----------+--------------------+

|Brand of|Total No. of|No. Religious|No. Secular| Titles Containing |

| Record | Titles in |and Classical| Titles | Word “Blues” |

| | Catalog | Titles | | |

+--------+------------+-------------+-----------+------+-------------+

| | | | | | Percentage |

| | | | |Number| of |

| | | | | |Secular Songs|

| | | | +------+-------------+

| “A” | 592 | 34[19] | 558 | 263 | 43 |

| “B” | 430 | 90[20] | 340 | 154 | 40 |

| “C” | 298 | 44[19] | 254 | 108 | 42 |

+--------+------------+-------------+-----------+------+-------------+

[19] No classical titles listed.

[20] Includes 28 classical titles.

In this table only those titles including the word “blues” have been

counted as blues. If the term were expanded to include all songs which

are now popularly known as blues, it would be found that upwards of

seventy-five per cent of the total number of secular songs listed in

the catalogs would fall in this class. The “A” catalog bears the title,

_“A” Race Records--The Blue Book of Blues_; the “B” catalog follows

titles like _Oh, Daddy_, _Brown Baby_, _Long Lost Mama_, etc., with the

explanation, “blues song” or “blues record”; and the “C” catalog bears

the title, _“C” Race Records--The Latest Blues by “C” Colored Artists_.

Certainly the popular notion among both whites and Negroes now is

that practically every Negro song which is not classed as a spiritual

is a blues. The term is now freely applied to instrumental pieces,

especially to dance music of the jazz type, and to every vocal piece

which, by any stretch of the imagination, can be thought of as having a

bluish cast.

A survey of the titles in the three catalogs mentioned above yields

some interesting data concerning the nature of the formal blues.

For one thing, there are sixty or seventy titles of the place or

locality type. Southern states and cities figure prominently in this

kind of blues, although the popularity of Northern localities is on

the increase. The favorite states are Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana,

Mississippi, Texas, and Virginia. The chief titles for these states are

as follows:

ALABAMA

_Alabama Blues_

_Birmingham Blues_

_Mobile Blues_

_Selma Bama Blues_

_Bama Bound Blues_

GEORGIA

_Atlanta Blues_

_Decatur Blues_

_Georgia Hunch_

_Georgia Blues_

LOUISIANA

_Lake Pontchartrain Blues_

_Lou’siana Low-down Blues_

_New Orleans Hop Scop Blues_

_New Orleans Wiggle_

_Shreveport Blues_

MISSISSIPPI

_Mississippi Blues_

_Ole Miss Blues_

_Mississippi Delta Blues_

TEXAS

_Dallas Blues_

_Houston Blues_

_Red River Blues_

_Waco Texas Blues_

_Seawall Special Blues_

VIRGINIA

_Virginia Blues_

_Hampton Roads Blues_

_Norfolk Blues_

There are also, to name only a few others, _Arkansas Blues_, _Florida

Blues_, _California Blues_, _Carolina Blues_, _Omaha Blues_, _Michigan

Water Blues_, _Memphis Blues_, _Tulsa Blues_, _St. Louis Blues_, _Salt

Lake City Blues_, _Wabash Blues_, and _Blue Grass Blues_. Finally there

are foreign titles, such as _London Blues_ and _West Indies Blues_.

Titles, of course, are not to be taken as accurate indices of the

contents of the songs. As a matter of fact, most of the songs bearing

titles of the locality type really deal with the relation of man and

woman.

Another feature of the formal blues is their tendency to specialize in

certain slang expressions. “Sweet mama,” “sweet papa,” “daddy,” “jelly

roll,” and a few other expressions have been thoroughly popularized

among certain classes, white and Negro, by the blues songs. By actual

count, titles containing one or more of the words, “mama,” “daddy,”

“papa,” “baby,” constitute twenty-five per cent of the total number of

secular titles in the catalogs referred to above.

It is to be expected that a very large proportion of these present-day

blues (using the term now in the broad sense as it is popularly

used) deals with the relation of man and woman. In fact, if the

locality types, most of which are based on the love relation, and the

“mama-papa” type were eliminated from the count, there would be a mere

handful left. The following titles will give some impression of the

nature of the songs which deal with the man-woman relation.[21]

[21] Any one who is acquainted with the slang and vulgarity of the

lower class Negro will suspect immediately that there are often

double meanings in titles like those listed here. Such is the case.

Negro songs writers and phonograph artists usually have had intimate

acquaintance with Negro life in all of its forms, and they have

doubtless come across many a song which was too vulgar to be put into

print, but which had certain appealing qualities. Often a melody was

too striking to be allowed to escape, so the writer fitted legitimate

verses to it and, if it was at all possible, preserved the original

title. Thus it comes about that many of the popular Negro songs

of today--and white songs, too, as for that--have titles that are

extremely suggestive, and are saved only by their perfectly innocuous

verses. The suggestiveness of the titles may also be one explanation

of why these songs have such a tremendous appeal for the common folk,

black and white. It may be that in these songs, whitewashed and

masked though they be, they recognize old friends.

_Leave My Sweet Papa Alone_

_I’ve Got a Do-right Daddy Now_

_Mistreated Mama_

_Slow Down, Sweet Papa, Mama’s Catching up With You_

_Sweet Smellin’ Mama_

_Black but Sweet, O God_

_How Do You Expect to Get My Lovin’?_

_He May Be Your Man, but He Comes to See Me Sometimes_

_Changeable Daddy_

_Go Back Where You Stayed Last Night_

_How Can I Be Your Sweet “Mama” When You’re “Daddy” to Some One Else?_

_You Can Have My Man if He Comes to See You Too_

_That Free and Easy Papa of Mine_

_You Can’t Do What My Last Man Did_

_Mistreatin’ Daddy_

_If I Let You Get Away With It Once You’ll Do It All the Time_

_Daddy, You’ve Done Put That Thing on Me_

_I’m Tired of Begging You to Treat Me Right_

_My Man Rocks Me With One Steady Roll_

_Do It a Long Time, Papa_

_No Second Handed Lovin’ for Mine_

_I Want a Jazzy Kiss_

_I’m Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down_

_Beale Street Mama_

_Big Fat Mama_

_Lonesome Mama_

_You’ve Got Everything a Sweet Mama Needs but Me_

_If You Don’t Give Me What I Want I’m Gonna Get It Somewhere Else_

_Mama Don’t Want Sweet Man Any More_

_If You Sheik on Your Mama_

_Mean Papa, Turn in Your Key_

_Take It, Daddy, It’s All Yours_

_How Long, Sweet Daddy, How Long?_

_You Can Take My Man but You Can’t Keep Him Long_

_Can Anybody Take Sweet Mama’s Place?_

_You Don’t Know My Mind_

_Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home?_

Then there are innumerable miscellaneous titles and sentiments. One

may have the _Poor Man Blues_, _Red Hot Blues_, _Through Train Blues_,

_Railroad Blues_, _Crazy Blues_, _Stranger Blues_, _Don’t Care Blues_,

_Goin’ ’Way Blues_, _Bleedin’ Hearted Blues_, _Cryin’ Blues_, _Salt

Water Blues_, _Mountain Top Blues_, _Thunderstorm Blues_, _Sinful

Blues_, _Basement Blues_, _House Rent Blues_, _Reckless Blues_, and

even the _A to Z Blues_. Here again however, titles are misleading,

for practically all songs bearing such titles really deal with the

man-woman theme.

It may be worth mentioning that the majority of these formal blues are

sung from the point of view of woman. A survey of titles in the “A,”

“B,” and “C” catalogs shows that upwards of seventy-five per cent of

the songs are written from the woman’s point of view. Among the blues

singers who have gained a more or less national recognition there is

scarcely a man’s name to be found.

It is doubtful whether the history of song affords a parallel to

the American situation with regard to the blues. Here we have the

phenomenon of a type of folk song becoming a great fad and being

exploited in every conceivable form; of hundreds of blues, some of

which are based directly upon folk productions, being distributed

literally by the million among the American people; and the Negro’s

assimilation of these blues into his everyday song life. What the

effects of these processes are going to be, one can only surmise. One

thing is certain, however, and that is that the student of Negro song

tomorrow will have to know what was on the phonograph records of today

before he may dare to speak of origins.

Whether the formal blues have come to stay or not, it is impossible to

tell at present. Possibly they will undergo considerable modification

as the public becomes satiated and the Negro takes on more and more of

the refinements of civilization. That their present form, however, is

acceptable to a large section of Negro America is indicated by the fact

that the combined sales of “A,” “B,” and “C” blues records alone amount

to five or six millions annually.

The folk blues will also undergo modification, but they will always

reflect Negro life in its lower strata much more accurately than the

formal blues can. For it must be remembered that these folk blues were

the Negro’s melancholy song long before the phonograph was invented.

Yet the formal songs are important. In their own way they are vastly

superior to the cruder folk productions, since they have all of the

advantages of the artificial over the natural. They may replace some

of the simpler songs and thus dull the creative impulse of the common

Negro folk to some extent, but there is every reason to suppose that

there will be real folk blues as long as there are Negro toilers and

adventurers whose naïveté has not been worn off by what the white man

calls culture.

The plaintiveness of the blues will be encountered in most of the songs

of this volume. It is present because most of the songs were collected

from the class of Negro folk who are most likely to create blues. In

the next chapter certain general songs of the blues type have been

brought together but the note of lonesomeness and melancholy will be

struck in the songs of the other chapters as well, especially in those

dealing with jail and chain gang, construction camp, and the relation

of man and woman.

CHAPTER III

SONGS OF THE LONESOME ROAD

The blues _par excellence_ are, of course, to be found in those songs

of sorrow and disappointment and longing which center around the love

relation.[22] But the song of the “po’ boy long ways from home” who

wanders “down that lonesome road” is rich in pathos and plaintiveness.

The wanderer is not unlike the old singer who sang,

Sometimes I hangs my head an’ cries

I’m po’ little orphan chile in de worl’

Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile

Nobody knows de trouble I’ve had

This ol’ worl’s been a hell to me

I’m rollin’ through an unfriendly worl’

[22] See Chapters VII and VIII for the songs of this type. This

chapter deals with more general lonesome songs.

Typical of the lonesome note in the present-day songs of the wanderer

are the following lines:

I’m gonna tell my mama when I git home

How people treated me way off from home

Freezin’ ground wus my foldin’ bed las’ night

Got up in the mornin’, couldn’t keep from cryin’

My shoes all wore out

My clothes done tore to pieces

Trouble gonna follow me to my grave

Bad luck in family, sho’ God, fell on me

Ain’t got nuthin’ to eat

Sick all night on de street

I been mistreated all my days

Po’ boy got nowhere to lay his head

Well, rock was my pillah las’ night

Clothes all wet, feet on the ground

Po’ boy, dey don’t give me no show

Law’, I’m so worried I don’t know what to do

I’m gonna ketch dat train, don’t know where it’s from

The workhouse settin’ ’way out on lonesome road

Always wanderin’ about

Nowhere to lay my head

Dis po’ man’s life is misery

Pocketbook was empty, my heart was full of pain

In the “Annals and Blues of Left Wing Gordon”[23] will be found

something of the story of one representative of all those black folk

who sing down the lonesome road. Left Wing had traveled the lonesome

road in at least thirty-eight states of the union. His type is legion.

Here is another whose parents died before he was eight years of age.

Thence to Texas, and Louisiana, across Mississippi to Georgia, then

down to Florida, back through South Carolina to his home state, North

Carolina. Abiding there shortly, thence to Maryland and Washington, to

St. Louis, thence to Ohio, thence to New York, back to Philadelphia,

across again to Ohio, then the war and camp, and armistice and more

travels, with periods of “doing time.” Then back again to the lonesome

road.

[23] See Chapter XII.

Nowhere is self-pity in the plaintive song better expressed than in

the forlorn Negro’s vision of himself, the last actor in the wanderer

drama, folks mourning his death, hacks in line, funeral well provided

for. Sometimes reflecting on his hard life, he pictures his own

funeral!

Look down po’ lonesome road,

Hacks all dead in line;

Some give nickel, some give a dime,

To bury dis po’ body o’ mine.

Perhaps he will jump into the sea or off the mountain or lay his head

on a railroad track. Then folks will miss him and mourn his tragic end.

He feels that he has more than his share of trouble and hard luck.

Sometimes he sings that he cannot keep from crying:

I can’t keep from cryin’

Look down dat lonesome road an’ cry

You made me weep, you made me moan

Woke up in de mornin’, couldn’t keep from cryin’

I got de blues an’ can’t keep from cryin’

The following songs show this note of hard luck, weeping, and self-pity:

SHIP MY PO’ BODY HOME

If I should die long way from home

Ship my po’ body home.

Ax fer a nickel, ax fer a dime,

Ax fer a quarter, ship my po’ body home,

Lawd, ship my po’ body home.

Ain’t got no money,

Ain’t got nothin’ to eat,

Sick all night on de street;

If I die long way from home

Ship my po’ body home.

PITY PO’ BOY

Pity a po’ boy

Stray ’way from home,

Pity a po’ boy

Stray ’way from home.

If I ever gits back,

I sho’ never mo’ to roam;

If I ever gits back,

I sho’ never mo’ to roam.

I RATHER BE IN MY GRAVE

I lef’ my rider standin’ in back do’ cryin’,

“Lawd, please don’t leave me behin’.”

You mistreat me, you drove me from yo’ do’,

Good book say you got to reap what you sow.

I’m goin’ ’way, Lawd, I’m goin’ ’way,

I ain’t comin’ back, Lawd, at all.

If my mind don’t change, Lawd,

If my mind don’t change, I ain’t comin’ back.

Woke up this mornin’, blues all around my bed,

Snatch up my pillow, blues all under my head.

I’m feelin’ blue, mama, feel blue you know,

I feel blue all day long.

Lawd, I’m worried now, Lawd,

But I won’t be worried long.

I feel like train, mama,

Ain’t got no drivin’ wheel.

I rather be daid in six foot o’ clay,

I rather be in my grave.

THROW MYSELF DOWN IN DE SEA

Goin’ up on mountain top,

Lord, goin’ up on mountain top,

O Lord, goin’ up on mountain top,

Throw myself down in de sea.

Throw myself down in sea,

O Lord, throw myself down in sea;

Goin’ up on mountain top,

Throw myself down in sea.

PO’ NIGGER GOT NOWHERE TO GO

Po’ nigger got nowhere to go,

Po’ nigger got nowhere to go,

Po’ nigger got nowhere to go,

Nothin’ but dirt all over de flo’.

Clothes am dirty rags,

Clothes am dirty rags,

Clothes am dirty rags,

Stuff in dirty bags.

Beds am ragged an’ ol’,

Beds am ragged an’ ol’,

Beds am ragged an’ ol’,

No money to buy no mo’.

I WISH I WAS DEAD

Over de hill is de po’ house,

Please don’t let me go.

A place to sleep, somethin’ to eat,

I don’t ast no mo’,

I don’t ast no mo’.

My clothes am done tore to pieces,

My shoes am all wo’ out;

Got nobody to do my patchin’,

Always wanderin’ about,

Always wanderin’ about.

Ain’t got nobody to love me,

Nowhere to lay my head.

Dis po’ man’s life am a misery,

Lawd, Lawd, how I wish I was dead,

Lawd, Lawd, how I wish I was dead.

TROUBLE ALL MY DAYS[24]

Trouble, trouble,

Been had it all my days.

Trouble, trouble,

Got to mend dis nigger’s ways.

Trouble, trouble,

I believe to my soul

Trouble gonna kill me dead.

Trouble, trouble.

But I’s gwine away,

To rid trouble off my min’.

But I’s gwine away,

To rid trouble off my min’.

Fair brown, fair brown,

Who may yo’ regular be?

If you got no regular,

Please take a peep at me.

Trouble, trouble,

Been had it all my day;

Believe to my soul

Trouble gonna kill me dead.

Say, look here, man,

See what you done done;

You done made me love you,

Now you tryin’ to dog me ’roun’.

[24] This song is very much like a popular phonograph record,

_Downhearted Blues_. Cf. also _Trouble, Trouble Blues_.

I CAN’T KEEP FROM CRYIN’[25]

I received a letter that my daddy was dead,

He wasn’t dead but he was slowly dyin’.

Just to think how I love him,

I can’t keep from cryin’.

I followed my daddy to the buryin’ ground,

I saw the pall-bearer slowly ease him down.

That was the last time I saw my daddy’s face.

I love you, sweet daddy, but I just can’t take your place.

[25] A somewhat condensed version of a phonograph song, _Death Letter

Blues_.

PO’ LITTLE GIRL GRIEVIN’

Po’ little girl grievin’,

Po’ little girl grievin’,

Lawdy, Lawdy, po’ little girl grievin’,

Po’ little girl grievin’.

Little girl wid head hung down,

Little girl wid head hung down,

Lawdy, Lawdy, little girl wid head hung down,

I’m sorry for little girl wid head hung down.

Sorry yo’ man,

Sorry yo’ man,

Lawdy, Lawdy, sorry

Yo’ man done left you.

Standin’ at station weepin’,

Standin’ at station weepin’,

Lawd, standin’ at station weepin’

’Cause her man done gone.

Don’t treat me lak used to,

Don’t treat me lak used to,

Lawd, girl don’t treat me lak used to,

Don’t treat me lak used to.

Lawd, I don’t know why,

Lawd, I don’t know why,

Lawdy, Lawdy, I don’t know why,

Don’t treat me lak used to.

It won’t be long,

It won’t be long,

Lawdy, Lawd, it won’t be long,

Lawd, it won’t be long.

The old line, “po’ boy ’long way from home,” is still a favorite.

In the Negro’s songs and stories of wanderings, home and father and

mother are themes of constant appeal, apparently much in contrast to

the Negro’s actual home-abiding experiences. The old spirituals sang

mostly of the heavenly home of dreams and ideals as opposed to the

experience in which “this ol’ world been a hell to me.” In his wanderer

song of today the Negro’s wish-dream to be back home appears an equally

striking contrast. Nowhere in the workaday songs is childlike and

wishful yearning so marked as in these constant songs of homesickness

and of the desire for something that is not.

Always accompanying the singer’s dreams of home is his contrasting

forlorn condition in the present hour. It would be difficult to find

better description of situations than that in which he pictures himself

as tired and forsaken on the lonesome road. Parts of this picture may

be gathered from the following lines taken here and there from his

songs:

Take, oh, take me, take me back home

My sister’s cryin’ back home

If I die long way from home

My home ain’t here an’ I ain’t got to stay

O Lord, captain, won’t you let me go home

Daddy sick, mammy dead,

Goin’ back South, dat’s where I’m bound.

Every mail day I gits letter from my mother,

Sayin’, “Son, son, come home.”

I’m one hundred miles from home

An’ I can’t go home this way.

I didn’t have no ready-made money,

I couldn’t go home.

A place to sleep, something to eat,

I don’t ast no mo’.

Look down dat lonesome road an’ cry

A variety of songs of home or home-folk, of surcease from work, will be

found wherever Negroes sing. This fact is recognized by the publishers

of blues when they advertise, “These blues will make every Negro

want to hurry back home.” The plaintive longing for home, alongside

expressions of weeping and self-pity, is the theme of most of the

following songs of the road:

I’M GOIN’ HOME, BUDDIE

All ’round the mountain, Buddie,

So chilly and cold, Buddie,

So chilly and cold, Buddie,

But I’m goin’ home, Buddie, I’m goin’ home.

Take this hammer, Buddie,

Carry it to the boss, Buddie,

Carry it to the boss, Buddie,

Tell him I gone home, Buddie, I gone home.

I got a wife, Buddie,

With two little children, Buddie,

With two little children, Buddie,

Tell ’em I’m comin’ home, Buddie, I’m comin’ home.

THAT OL’ LETTER

That ol’ letter,

Read about dyin’;

Boy, did you ever,

Think about dyin’?

Then I can’t read it

Now for cryin’,

Tears run down,

Lawd, Lawd, tears run down.

PO’ HOMELESS BOY

In de evenin’ de sun am low,

In de evenin’ de sun am low,

In de evenin’ de sun am low,

Dis po’ homeless boy got nowhere to go,

Dis po’ homeless boy got nowhere to go,

Nowhere to go.

Daddy sick, mammy daid,

Daddy sick, mammy daid,

Po’ boy got nowhere to lay his haid,

Po’ boy got nowhere to lay his haid,

Lay his haid.

Clothes all wo’, feet on de groun’,

Clothes all wo’, feet on de groun’,

Goin’ back down South, dat’s where I’s boun’,

Goin’ back down South, dat’s where I’s boun’,

Where I’s boun’.

Home in a two-room shack,

Home in a two-room shack,

Home in a two-room shack,

Cook in de fire, pipe in de crack,

Cook in de fire, pipe in de crack,

Pipe in de crack.

TAKE ME BACK HOME

Take me, oh, take me,

Take me back home.

My mammy’s weepin’, daddy’s sleepin’,

In de ol’ grave yard.

Take me, oh, take me,

Take me back home.

PLEASE, MR. CONDUCTOR

When I left home mother was ill,

And she needed the doctor’s care,

That’s the reason I came to the city,

I’ll pay you my fare next time.

Please, Mr. Conductor,

Don’t put me off this train.

The best friend I have in this world

Is waiting for me in pain.

CAPTAIN, I WANTA GO HOME

When I call on captain, Lawd, Lawd,

He ast me what I need.

Captain, captain, I tol’ captain,

Lawd, I wanta go back home.

He tol’ me, Lawd, why you want to go home, Shine?

Say you got to make your time.

Captain call me ’bout half pas’ fo’,

Captain, Lawd, I wouldn’t go.

Want me to go in kitchen,

Draw water, make fire.

Captain, captain, what make you call me so soon?

Poor Shine, Lawd, captain, wish I was home.

I went out on road

Wid pick and shovel, too.

I pick a lick or two,

Captain, can’t I go back home?

Captain, captain, won’t you take me,

Lawd, Lawd, captain, won’t you take me back?

My home ain’t here, captain,

An’ I ain’t got to stay.

O Lawd, captain, captain, Lawd,

Won’t you let me go home?

WILL I GIT BACK HOME?

Law’, I do wonder,

Law’, I do wonder,

Law’, I do wonder,

Will I git back home, huh?

Will I git back home, huh?

Well cuckoo, cuckoo,

Keep on hollerin’,

An’ mus’ be day, Law’,

Mus’ be day.

Well whistle, whistle,

Keep on blowin’,

An’ time ain’t long,

Uhuh, time ain’t long.

LAWD, LAWD, I’M ON MY WAY

Ain’t had nothin’ to eat,

Ain’t had nowhere to sleep,

Freezin’ ground wus my foldin’ bed,

But I’m on my way,

O Lawd, I’m on my way.

What makes you hold yo’ head so high?

Any way you hold yo’ head,

That’s way you gonna die,

That’s way you gonna die.

I sho’ don’t want to go,

But I’m goin’ up country

Singin’ nothin’ but you;

I’m goin’ up country,

Singin’ nothin’ but you.

GOIN’ DOWN DAT LONESOME ROAD[26]

Goin’ down dat lonesome road,

Oh, goin’ down dat lonesome road,

An’ I won’t be treated this-a way.

Springs on my bed done broken down,

An’ I ain’t got nowhere to lay my head.

Now my mamma’s dead an’ my papa, too,

An’ it left me alone wid you.

An’ you cause me to weep an’ you cause me to moan,

An’ you cause me to leave my happy home.

Longest train I ever saw

Was nineteen coaches long.

Darlin’ what have I done to you?

What makes you treat me so?

An’ I won’t be treated this-a way.

[26] For the music of this song, see Chapter XIV. A song of this name

has been found in the Kentucky mountains, and a phonograph record

(_Lonesome Road Blues_) based on it has recently appeared. Cf. also

_The Lonesome Road_ in Miss Scarborough’s _On the Trail of Negro

Folk-Songs_, p. 73.

CHAPTER IV

BAD MAN BALLADS AND JAMBOREE

There is this fortunate circumstance which contributes to the

completeness and vividness of the Negro portraits as found in workaday

songs: the whole picture is often epitomized in each of several

characters or types of singers and their songs. Thus the picture may

be viewed from all sides and from different angles, with such leisure

and repetition as will insure accurate impressions. One of these

types is the “po’ boy long way from home” singing down “that lonesome

road,” as represented in the previous chapter. Whether in his ordinary

daily task, or on his pilgrimages afar, or in the meshes of the law,

this singer approaches perfection in the delineation of his type.

Another type is that to be found in the story of Left Wing Gordon as

presented in Chapter XII, and of John Henry in Chapter XIII. Likewise,

the songs of jail and chain gang, the songs of women and love, and

the specialized road songs all embody that fine quality of full and

complete reflection of the folk spirit in the Negro’s workaday life and

experience.

There is perhaps no type, however, which comes more nearly summarizing

certain situations, experiences, and backgrounds than the Negro “bad

man,” whose story will make an heroic tale of considerable proportions.

In many ways the “bad man from bad man’s land” is a favorite. He is

eulogized by the youngsters and sung by the worker by the side of the

road. One preacher even described Christ as a man who would “stand no

foolin’ wid.” “Jesus such great man, no one lak him. Lord, he could

pop lion’s head off jes’ lak he wus fryin’-size chicken an’ could

take piece o’ mountain top and throw it across the world.” And as

for that other bad man, “Nicotemus,” why Jesus, when he got through

with him, had him following behind a donkey like any other slave.[27]

There was that other young Negro who “was no comfort to preacher, but

was a hawk like pizen. Mens like him and wimmin belonged to him wid

his winnin’ ways.” In a previous volume[28] we pointed out some of

the characteristic experiences and modes of the Negro bum, “bully of

this town,” Railroad Bill, Stagolee, Brady, and the others, of twenty

years ago. Since that time the tribe has apparently not diminished

and flourishes well in the atmosphere of modern life, migration, and

the changing conditions of race relations. Of the statistical and

environmental aspects of the Negro criminal much will be reported in

another study.[29] In this chapter we are concerned with the portrait

of a type, perhaps inexorably drawn into the maelstrom of his day

and turned into an inevitable product. He is no less an artist than

the wanderer, the “travelin’ man,” or Left Wing Gordon. He is the

personification of badness mixed with humor, of the bad man and the

champion of exploits. We have already referred to the Negro who “wus so

mean wus skeered of hisself,” competitor to that other one whose

... eyes wus red an’ his gums wus blue,

’Cause he wus a nigger right through and through.

There were still other companions to these in Slippery Jim, Slewfoot

Pete, and Ann-Eliza Stone, “mean wid her habbits on” and breaking

up the “jamboree.”[30] A common phrase, indeed, threatened always to

“break up dis jamboree” in exchange for slighting one’s “repertation.”

[27] Cited by Dr. E. C. L. Adams of Columbia, S. C.

[28] _The Negro and His Songs_, page 164 seq.

[29] A study of Negro crime directed by J. F. Steiner, for the

Institute for Research in Social Science, at the University of North

Carolina.

[30] See Swan and Abbot, in _Eight Negro Songs_, New York, 1923.

Many are the bad men, and vivid the descriptions. Said one, “Lawd,

cap’n, take me till tomorrow night to tell ’bout dat boy. Eve’ybody

skeered uv him. John Wilson jes nachelly bully, double j’inted, awful

big man, didn’t fear ’roun’ nobody. Would break up ev’y do he ’tended.

Go to picnic, take all money off’n table. Couldn’t do nothin’ wid him.

Seen feller shoot at him nine times once an’ didn’t do nothin’ to him,

an’ he run an’ caught up wid feller an’ bit chunk meat out o’ his back,

... but one man got him wid britch loader an’ stop ’im from suckin’

eggs.”

We have found no black bad-man ballads superior to the old ones,

_Railroad Bill_, _Stagolee_, _That Bully of this Town_, _Desperado

Bill_, _Eddy Jones_, _Joe Turner_, _Brady_,[31] and the others. And

yet, the current stories sung on the road are more accurate portrayals

of actual characters and experiences, and perhaps less finished

songs, less formal rhyme. Take _Lazarus_, for instance, a hard luck

story, portraying something of Negro sympathy, burial custom, general

reaction. Here is a character more to be pitied than censured,

according to his companions. Listen to three pick-and-shovel men,

tracing “po’ Lazarus” from the work camp where he, poor foolish fellow,

robbed the commissary camp and then took to his heels. Thence between

the mountains where the high sheriff shot him down, back to the camp

and burying ground, with mother, wife, brothers, sisters, comrades

weeping, attending the funeral, where they “put po’ Lazarus away at

half pas’ nine.”

[31] _The Negro and His Songs_, pages 196-212.

BAD MAN LAZARUS

Oh, bad man Lazarus,

Oh, bad man Lazarus,

He broke in de commissary,

Lawd, he broke in de commissary.

He been paid off,

He been paid off,

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,

He been paid off.

Commissary man,

Commissary man,

He jump out commissary window,

Lawd, he jump out commissary window.

Startin’ an’ fall,

O Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,

Commissary man startin’ an’ he fall,

O Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.

Commissary man swore out,

Lawd, commissary man swore out,

Lawd, commissary man swore out

Warrant for Lazarus.

O bring him back,

Lawd, bring him back,

O Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,

Bring Lazarus back.

They began to wonder,

Lawd, they began to wonder,

Lawd, they began to wonder

Where Lazarus gone.

Where in world,

Lawd, where in world,

Lawd, where in world

Will they find him?

Well, I don’t know,

I don’t know,

Well, Lawd, Lawd,

Well, I don’t know.

Well, the sheriff spied po’ Lazarus,

Well, the sheriff spied po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, sheriff spied po’ Lazarus

Way between Bald Mountain.

They blowed him down,

Well, they blowed him down,

Well, Lawd, Lawd,

They blowed him down.

They shot po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, they shot po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, they shot po’ Lazarus

With great big number.

Well, forty-five,

Lawd, great big forty-five,

Lawd, forty-five,

Turn him roun’.

They brought po’ Lazarus,

And they brought po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, they brought po’ Lazarus

Back to the shanty.

Brought him to de number nine,

Lawd, brought him to number nine,

Lawd, they brought him to the number nine,

Lawd, they brought po’ Lazarus to number nine.

Ol’ friend Lazarus say,

Lawd, old friend Lazarus say,

Lawd, old friend Lazarus say,

“Give me cool drink of water.

“Befo’ I die

Good Lawd, ’fo’ I die,

Give me cool drink of water,

Lawd, ’fo’ I die.”

Lazarus’ mother say,

Lawd, Lazarus’ mother say,

“Nobody know trouble

I had with him,

“Since daddy died,

Lawd, since daddy been dead,

Nobody know the trouble I had

Since daddy been dead.”

They goin’ bury po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, they goin’ bury ol’ Lazarus,

They goin’ bury po’ Lazarus

In the mine.

At half pas’ nine, O Lawd,

Good Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,

Goin’ bury po’ Lazarus

At half pas’ nine.

Me an’ my buddy,

Lawd, me an’ my buddy,

We goin’ over to bury him,

Half pas’ nine.

Half pas’ nine,

O Lawd, Lawd, half pas’ nine,

We goin’ over to bury him,

Half pas’ nine.

Lazarus’ mother say,

“Look over yonder,

How dey treatin’ po’ Lazarus,

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.”

They puttin’ him away,

Lawd, they puttin’ him away,

Lawd, they puttin’ Lazarus away,

Half pas’ nine.

It would be difficult to find a scene and setting more appealing

than this ballad being sung by a group of workingmen in unison, with

remarkable harmony, fine voices, inimitable manner. “Doesn’t this

singing hinder you in your work?” we asked one of the pick-and-shovel

men, just to see what type of reply he would make. With first a slow

look of surprise, then a sort of pity for the man who would ask such a

question, then a “Lawdy-Lawd-Cap’n” outburst of laughter, “Cap’n dat’s

whut makes us work so much better, an’ it nuthin’ else but.” And one of

the group acted the part of the “shouter” very much like the hearers in

the church. He would sing a while, then dig away in silence, then burst

out with some exhorter’s exclamation about the song, giving zest to the

singing, contrast to the imagery, authority to the story. Once as the

singers recorded the shooting of Lazarus, he shouted, “Yes, yes, Lawd,

Lawd, I seed ’em, I wus dere”; and again when they sang of his mother

weeping, “Yes, Lawd, I wus right dere when she come a-runnin’. I know

it’s true.” Taken all in all, the sorrowful story of Lazarus, with its

painstaking sequence and its melody as sung on this occasion, it is

doubtful if ever Negro spiritual surpassed it in beauty and poignancy.

The above version was heard at Danielsville, Georgia. A similar but

shorter one, current in North Carolina, is called _Billy Bob Russell_.

“Reason why dey calls it dat is Billy Bob Russell an’ Lazarus been

buddies for years, pretty mean boys til dey gits grown. Billy Bob

Russell, he’s from Georgia an’ I think Lazarus act sorta like robber or

highway robber or somethin’, follow road camp all time.”[32]

[32] Other Negroes affirm that Billy Bob Russell was a white man, a

Georgia construction foreman and a very noted one.

BILLY BOB RUSSELL

Cap’n tol’ high sheriff,

“Go an’ bring me Lazarus,

Bring him dead or alive,

Lawd, bring him dead or alive.”

Eve’ybody wonder

Where in world dey would find him,

Then I don’t know,

Cap’n, I don’t know.

Lazarus tol’ high sheriff,

He had never been ’rested

By no one man,

Lawd, Lawd, by no one man.

Then they found po’ Lazarus

In between two mountains,

Wid his head hung down,

Lawd, Lawd, wid his head hung down.

Shoot po’ Lazarus,

Carried him over to shanty,

Lawd, shoot po’ Lazarus,

Carried him over to shanty.

Lazarus’ sister she run

An’ tol’ her mother

That Lazarus wus dead,

Lawd, Lazarus wus dead.

Then Lazarus tol’ high sheriff,

“Please turn me over

On my wounded side,

Lawd, on my wounded side.”

Lazarus tol’ high sheriff,

“Please give me drink water

Jes’ befo’ I die,

Lawd, jes’ befo’ I die.”

Lazarus’ mother,

She laid down her sewin’,

She wus thinkin’ bout trouble

She had had wid Lazarus.

In contrast to the more finished rhyming stanzas of _Railroad Bill_ and

the earlier heroic epics, note the simple, vivid ballad-in-the-making

type of unrhymed song so common as a type of pick-and-shovel melody.

Note the accuracy of the picture, its trueness to actual workaday

experience, the phrase description. Such a song in the making and in

the rendering defies description or competition as a folk-mirror.

Differing somewhat and yet of the same general sort of characterization

is the current story of Dupree, versions of which have been taken from

Asheville, North Carolina, and various other places in Georgia and

North Carolina. One of the most interesting aspects of this Dupree song

is that it may be compared with the Atlanta ballad of the white _Frank

Dupree_ as popularly sung on the phonograph records. The story of the

white culprit warns his young friends in the usual way and asks them to

meet him in heaven. His crime was, first, snatching a diamond ring for

his sweetheart, then shooting the policeman to death, then fleeing but

coming back because he could not stay away from his “Betty.” There is

little similarity of expression between the white version and the Negro

one. Here is the more finished of the Negro songs.

DUPREE

Dupree was a bandit,

He was so brave and bol’,

He stoled a diamond ring

For some of Betty’s jelly roll.

Betty tol’ Dupree,

“I want a diamond ring.”

Dupree tol’ Betty,

“I’ll give you anything.”

“Michigan water

Taste like cherry wine,[33]

The reason I know:

Betty drink it all the time.

“I’m going away

To the end of the railroad track.

Nothing but sweet Betty

Can bring me back.”

Dupree tol’ the lawyer,

“Clear me if you can,

For I have money to back me,

Sure as I’m a man.”

The lawyer tol’ Dupree,

“You are a very brave man,

But I think you will

Go to jail and hang.”

Dupree tol’ the judge,

“I am not so brave and bol’,

But all I wanted

Was Betty’s jelly roll.”

The judge tol’ Dupree,

“Jelly roll’s gonna be your ruin.”

“No, no, judge, for that is

What I’ve done quit doin’.”

The judge tol’ Dupree,

“I believe you quit too late,

Because it is

Already your fate.”

[33] See phonograph record, _Michigan Water Blues_.

In striking contrast to the _Dupree_ just given is one sung by a young

Negro who had been in the chain gang a number of times and whose major

repertoire consisted of the plaintive chain gang songs. Here the singer

has translated the version into his own vernacular, varying lines,

eschewing rhyme, carrying his story through the regular channels of

the prison type. The lines are given exactly as sung, repetitions and

irregularities constituting their chief distinction. And yet something

of the same story runs through it. It is perhaps a little nearer the

Atlanta version, and the singer adds still another interpretation that

Dupree and Betty had quarreled and as a result Dupree had killed her

and hidden her body in the sawdust. An interesting local color is that

Dupree was sent to Milledgeville, Georgia, where as a matter of fact

is situated the combined state prison and hospital. Here, then, is the

song with its mixed imagery and reflection of a certain mentality.

DUPREE TOL’ BETTY

Betty tol’ Dupree

She want a diamond ring;

Betty tol’ Dupree

She want a diamond ring.

Dupree tol’ Betty,

Gonna pawn his watch an’ chain;

Dupree tol’ Betty,

Gonna pawn his watch an’ chain.

Dupree left here cold in han’,

Dupree left here cold in han’,

But when he git back to Georgia,

He was wrapped up all in chains.

Dupree tol’ Betty,

“Gonna git that diamond ring.”

Betty tol’ Dupree,

“If you stay in love with me,

Hurry an’ git that diamond ring;

If you stay in love with me,

Hurry an’ git that diamond ring.”

Dupree tol’ Betty,

He git that diamond ring;

Dupree tol’ Betty,

He git that diamond ring,

He went to the pawnshop

An’ snatched the diamond ring,

He went to the pawnshop

An’ snatched the diamond ring.

High-sheriff come git Dupree,

Took him in the jail.

Lawd, jail keeper come and git Dupree,

Took him to the jail.

Lawd, jail keeper took Dupree

An’ put him in his cell,

Lawd, jail keeper took Dupree

An’ put him in his cell.

Dupree ask the sheriff

What he had done,

Lawd, Dupree ask the sheriff

What he had done.

Sheriff tol’ him

He had snatched diamond ring,

Sheriff told him

He had snatched diamond ring.

Dupree say he ain’t killed no man.

Jailer tol’ him take it easy,

’Cause he done snatched the diamond ring,

’Cause he done snatched the diamond ring.

He say, “I aint got no case ’gainst you

But I bound to put you in jail.”

He say, “I aint got no case ’gainst you

But I bound to put you in jail.”

Dupree laid in jail

So long they tried to hang him;

They tried to take him to court

An’ taken him back again,

Judge give him the same old sentence,

Lawd, judge give him the same old sentence.

Say, “Dupree you kill that po’ little girl

An’ hid her in the sawdust.

Dupree, we got hangin’ for you,

Sorry, Dupree, we got to hang po’ you.”

They try to take him to Milledgeville,

Lawd, tried to take him to Milledgeville,

Put him in a orphans’ home,

Lawd, to keep him out of jail.

A popular bad man song of many versions is the _Travelin’ Man_. No one

has ever outdistanced him. A long story, rapidly moving, miraculously

achieving, triumphantly ending, it represents jazz song, phonograph

record, banjo ballad, quartet favorite, although it is not easy to

capture. Three versions have been found in the actual singing, one

by a quartet which came to Dayton, Tennessee, to help entertain

the evolution mongers; another by Kid Ellis, of Spartanburg, South

Carolina, himself a professed traveling man; a third by a North

Carolina Negro youth who had, however, migrated to Pennsylvania and

returned after traveling in seven or eight other states of the union.

The South Carolina version, which is given here, is of the _Ain’t Gonna

Rain No Mo’_ type of vaudeville and ballad mixture.

TRAVELIN’ MAN

Now I jus’ wanna tell you ’bout travelin’ man,

His home was in Tennessee;

He made a livin’ stealin’ chickens

An’ anything he could see.

_Chorus_:

He was a travelin’ man,

He certainly was a travelin’ man,

He was mos’ travelin’ man

That ever was in this lan’.

And when the law got after that coon,

He certainly would get on the road.

An’ if a train pass, no matter how fas’,

He certainly would get on boa’d.

He was a travelin’ man,

Was seen for miles aroun’,

He never got caught, an’ never give up

Until the police shot him down.

The police shot him with a rifle,

An’ the bullet went through his head,

The people came for miles aroun’

To see if he was dead.

They sent down South for his mother,

She was grieved and moved with tears,

Then she open the coffin to see her son,

An’ the fool had disappeared.

The police got in an auto

An’ started to chase that coon,

They run him from six in the mornin’

Till seven that afternoon.

The coon ran so bloomin’ fast

That fire come from his heels;

He scorched the cotton an’ burnt the corn

An’ cut a road through the farmer’s’ fields.

The coon went to the spring one day

To get a pail of water;

The distance he had to go

Was two miles and a quarter.

He got there an’ started back,

But he stumbled an’ fell down;

He went to the house and got another pail,

An’ caught the water ’fore it hit the ground.

The coon stole a thousand dollars,

Was in broad open day time.

I ast the coon if he wa’n’t ashame

To commit such an awful crime.

They put the coon on the gallows

An’ told him he would die;

He crossed his legs an’ winked his eye

And sailed up in the sky.

The coon got on the Titanic

An’ started up the ocean blue,

But when he saw the iceberg,

Right overboa’d he flew.

The white folks standin’ on the deck,

Said “Coon, you are a fool.”

But ’bout three minutes after that

He was shootin’ craps in Liverpool.

For the rest of this picture of the bad man the simple presentation of

songs and fragments in sufficient numbers to illustrate main types will

suffice. His name is legion, and he ranks all the way from the “polish

man” to the “boll-weevil nigger,” much despised of the common man of

the better sort. Bad men come into peaceful and industrious communities

and disturb the peace. They flow in from other states to add to the

number of offenders, yet in spite of their numbers and character, the

church throng, the picnic, the funeral and other social occasions seem

to have much fewer murders and fracases than formerly. If the bad man

can be turned into song and verse, with the picture of adventure and

romance becoming more and more mythical, the Negro will profit by the

evolution. For the present, however, here are samples of the portrayals

most commonly sung, with apologies to all improvisators, minstrel

artists, and white-folk imitators of Negro verse.

BOLIN JONES

Bolin Jones wuz

A man of might,

He worked all day

And he fit all night.

O Lawsy, Lawsy,

He’s a rough nigger,

Han’ to his hip,

Fingers on de trigger.

Lay ’em low,

Lay ’em low,

When Bolin’s ’round,

Mind whar you go.

ROSCOE BILL

I’m de rowdy from over de hill,

I’m de rowdy called Roscoe Bill,

Roscoe Bill, Roscoe Bill,

When I shoots I’m boun’ to kill.

I’m Roscoe Bill

Dat never gits skeered,

Goes frum shack to shack,

Tries de udder man’s bed.

I’m Roscoe Bill,

De man of might,

Plum tickled to death

When I raise a fight.

I’m Roscoe Bill

Dat de women all foller.

Takes what dey got,

Den steals deir dollar.

LAYIN’ LOW

Layin’ low, never know

When de cops about.

Shootin’ crap on my gal’s lap,

I’ve got to go my route.

Layin’ low, never know,

When de p’liceman’s walkin’ about,

Walkin’ in, stalkin’ about,

Dat p’liceman’s walkin’ about.

DON’T FOOL WID ME

Dark town alley’s too small a place

For me and that cop to have a fair race.

I lay low till de night am dark,

Den dis here nigger is out for a lark.

Han’s up, nigger, don’t fool wid me,

I put nigger whar he ought-a be.

CREEPIN’ ’ROUN’

Work in de mornin’,

In de evenin’ I sleep.

When de dark comes, Lawd,

Dis nigger got to creep.

_Chorus_:

Creepin’ ’roun’,

Creepin’ in,

Creepin’ everywhere

A creeper’s been.

Eats in de mornin’,

In de evenin’ I looks ’roun’.

When de dark comes, Lawd,

A chocolate gal I’ve foun’.

SHOOTIN’ BILL

Dere’s a nigger on my track,

Dere’s a nigger on my track,

Dere’s a nigger on my track,

Let de undertaker take him back.

I’m a man shoots de two-gun fire,

I’m a man shoots de two-gun fire,

I’m a man shoots de two-gun fire,

I’se got a gal who’s a two-faced liar.

When I shoots, I shoots to kill,

When I shoots, I shoots to kill,

When I shoots, I shoots to kill,

Dat’s why dey fears Shootin’ Bill!

I AM READY FOR DE FIGHT

When at night I makes my bed,

When at night I makes my bed,

When at night I makes my bed,

Puts my feets up to de head.

If dey hunts me in de night,

If dey hunts me in de night,

If dey hunts me in de night,

I am ready fer de fight.

I sleeps wid one year out,

I sleeps wid one year out,

I sleeps wid one year out,

Got to know when dem rounders ’bout.

Up an’ down dis worl’,

Up an’ down dis worl’,

Up an’ down dis worl’,

Lookin’ fer dat tattlin’ gal.

SLIM JIM FROM DARK-TOWN ALLEY

Slim Jim wus a chocolate drop,

Slim Jim wus a chocolate drop,

Slim Jim wus a chocolate drop

From dark-town alley.

Slim Jim drapped down a cop,

Slim Jim drapped down a cop,

Slim Jim drapped down a cop

In dark-town alley.

Hy Jim, hey Jim, we got you at las’,

Hy Jim, hey Jim, we got you at las’,

Hy Jim, hey Jim, we got you at las’

In dark-town alley.

De jails kotch him at las’, dat chocolate drop,

De jails kotch him at las’, dat chocolate drop,

De jails kotch him at las’, dat chocolate drop

From dark-town al-ley.

Dem bars wus strong, but Chocolate melted away,

Dem bars wus strong, but Chocolate melted away,

Dem bars wus strong, but Chocolate melted away,

Back to dark-town alley.

I’M A NATURAL-BO’N RAM’LER

I’m a natural-bo’n ram’ler,

I’m a natural-bo’n ram’ler,

I’m a natural-bo’n ram’ler,

An’ it ain’t no lie.

I travels about on Monday night,

I travels about when de moon is bright.

I travels about on Tuesday, too,

I travels about when got nuthin’ else to do.

I travels about on Wednesday mo’n,

Been travelin’ ever since I been bo’n,

On Thurs’ I rambles ’round de town,

Dey ain’t no Jane kin hol’ me down.

Friday ketches me wid my foot in my han’,

I’m de out-derndest traveler of any man.

Saturday’s de day I rambles fo’ sumpin to eat,

An’ Sunday de day dis ram’ler sleeps.

I’M DE HOT STUFF MAN

I’m de hot stuff man

Frum de devil’s lan’.

Go on, nigger,

Don’t you try to buck me,

I’m de hot stuff man

Frum de devil’s lan’.

I’m a greasy streak o’ lightnin’,

Don’t you see?

Don’t you see?

Don’t you see?

I can cuss, I can cut,

I can shoot a nigger up.

Go on, nigger,

Don’t you try to buck me,

I’m de fas’est man,

Can clean up de lan’.

I’m a greasy streak o’ lightnin’,

Can’t you see?

I’m a greasy streak o’ lightnin’,

Can’t you see?

REUBEN[34]

Dat you, Reuben?

Dat you, Reuben?

Den dey laid ol’ Reuben down so low.

Say ol’ Reuben had a wife,

He’s in trouble all his life.

Den dey lay Reuben down so low.

Dat you Reuben?

Dat you Reuben?

Den dey laid Reuben down so low.

Says ol’ Reuben mus’ go back,

When he pawn his watch an’ hack.

Den dey laid Reuben down so low.

Says ol’ Reuben mus’ be dead,

When he laid upon his bed.

Den dey laid Reuben down so low.

Dat you Reuben?

Dat you Reuben?

Den dey laid Reuben down so low.

[34] We are told that this song is common among the whites of Western

North Carolina.

BLOODHOUN’ ON MY TRACK

Bloodhoun’ from Macon right on my track,

Right on my track, right on my track.

Bloodhoun’ from Macon right on my track,

Wonder who gonna stan’ my bon’?

BUFFALO BILL

I’m de bad nigger,

If you wants to know;

Look at dem rounders

In de cemetery row.

Shoot, nigger,

Shoot to kill,

Who’s you foolin’ wid?

My Buffalo Bill?

Buffalo Bill

Wus a man of might,

Always wore his britches

Two sizes too tight.

Split ’em nigger,

Ride ’em on a rail;

I’ve got de mon to

Pay yo’ bail.

DAT LEADIN’ HOUN’

Dere’s a creeper hangin’ ’roun’,

I’m gwiner git ’im I be boun’.

Den dey put dat feller in de groun’

An’ I be listenin’ fer dat houn’,

Dat leadin’ houn’.

All aroun’ here,

All aroun’ here,

What does I keer?

Listenin’ fer dat leadin’ houn’.

Steal in home middle o’ de night,

Give dem folksies sich a fright.

Say, “Feed me, woman, treat me right,”

But she send fer de sheriff

An’ de leadin’ houn’.

OUTRUN DAT COP

Hi lee, hi lo, happy on de way,

Hi lee, hi lo, outrun dat cop today.

Hi lee, hi lo, watch his shirt-tail fly,

Hi lee, hi lo, ’splain to you by and by.

DON’T YOU HEAR?

Don’t you hear dat shakin’ noise?

Don’t you hear dat creepin’ ’roun’?

Don’t you hear dat stefly walkin’?

Dat’s dat man I laid down, laid down.

Can’t you hear dem bones a-shakin’?

Can’t you hear dem dead man’s moan?

Can’t you see dem dead man’s sperrits?

Can’t you see dat man ain’t gone?

I’S A NATURAL-BO’N EASTMAN

I’s a natural-bo’n eastman,

An’ a cracker jack,

I’s a natural-bo’n eastman

An’ a cracker jack,

On de road again,

On de road again.

I STEAL DAT CORN

I steal dat corn

From de white man’s barn,

Den I slips aroun’,

Tells a yarn,

An’ sells it back again.

I steal dem chickens

From de white man’s yard,

Den I tells dat man

I’s workin’ hard,

An’ I sells ’em back again.

I steal de melons

From his patch,

It takes a smarter man dan him

Fer ter ketch,

An’ I sells ’em back again.

I’M DE ROUGH STUFF

I’m de rough stuff of dark-town alley,

I’m de man dey hates to see.

I’m de rough stuff of dis alley,

But de womens all falls for me.

Lawd, Lawd, how dey hates me!

Lawd, Lawd, how dey swear!

Lawd, Lawd, how dey hates me!

Lawd, Lad, what-a mo’ do I care?

I AIN’T DONE NOTHIN’

Went up to ’Lanta,

Who should I meet?

Forty-leben blue coats

Comin’ down de street,

Forty-leben blue coats

Comin’ down de street.

I ain’t done nothin’,

What dey follerin’ after me?

I ain’t done nothin,

Can’t dey let me be?

WHEN HE GRIN

His head was big an’ nappy,

An’ ashy wus his skin,

But good God-a’mighty, man,

You forget it when he grin.

His nose wus long an’ p’inted,

His eyes wus full o’ sin,

But good God-a’mighty, man,

You forget it when he grin.

His foots wus long an’ bony,

An’ skinny wus his shin,

But good God-a’mighty, man,

You forget it when he grin.

He’d fight ten,

He could sin, always win,

But good God-a’mighty, man,

You forget it when he grin.

SHOT MY PISTOL IN THE HEART O’ TOWN[35]

O Lawd,

Shot my pistol

In the heart o’ town.

Lawd, the big chief hollered,

“Doncha blow me down.”

O Lawd,

Which a-way

Did the po’ gal go?

She lef’ here runnin’,

Is all I know.

O Lawd,

Which a-way

Do the Red River run?

Lawd, it run east and west

Like the risin’ sun.

Black gal hollered,

Like to scared my brown to death.

If I hadn’t had my pistol

I’d a-run myself.

O Lawd,

Jes’ two cards

In the deck I love

Lawd, the Jack o’ Diamonds

An’ the Ace o’ Clubs.

O Lawd,

Stopped here to play

Jes’ one mo’ game.

Lawd, Jack o’ Diamonds

Petered on my han’.

[35] For music see Chapter XIV.

CHAPTER V

SONGS OF JAIL, CHAIN GANG, AND POLICEMEN

Not all Negro “bad men” achieve an abiding place in jail or chain

gang. Not all Negroes in jail or chain gang are “bad men”--not by long

odds. And yet the prison population of the South contains abundant

representations of both major and minor Negro offenders, although the

indications are that the ratio of Negroes to whites is decreasing

rapidly. And if one wishes to obtain anything like an adequate or

accurate picture of the workaday Negro he will surely find much of

his best setting in the chain gang, prison, or in the situations of

the ever-fleeing fugitive from “chain-gang houn’,” high sheriff or

policeman. “I ain’t free, Lawd, I ain’t free,” sings the prisoner who

bemoans the bad luck in which he had “nobody to pay my fine.” Never

did the old spiritual, as in “Go down, Moses, tell ol’ Pharaoh, let my

people go,” express more determined call for freedom than the Negro

singer behind the bars. Yet the Negro prisoner combines admirable humor

with his wailing song:

I AIN’T FREE

De rabbit in de briar patch,

De squirrel in de tree,

Would love to go huntin’,

But I ain’t free,

But I ain’t free,

But I ain’t free,

Would love to go huntin’,

But I ain’t free, ain’t free.

De rooster’s in de hen house,

De hen in de patch,

I love to go shootin’

At a ol’ shootin’ match;

But I ain’t free,

But I ain’t free,

But I ain’t free,

At a ol’ shootin’ match,

But I ain’t free, ain’t free.

Ol’ woman in de kitchen,

My sweetie hangin’ ’roun’,

’Nudder man gonna git ’er,

I sho’ be boun’,

’Cause I ain’t free,

’Cause I ain’t free,

’Cause I ain’t free,

’Nudder man ’ll git ’er,

’Cause I ain’t free, ain’t free.

Dig in de road band,

Dig in de ditch,

Chain gang got me,

An’ de boss got de switch

I ain’t free,

I ain’t free,

I ain’t free,

Chain gang got me,

An’ I ain’t free, ain’t free.

This chapter makes no approach to the study of the Negro criminal.

That will be done in the scientific inquiries which are now being made

at length and in later studies of the Negro bad man. What the chapter

attempts is simply to give further pictures of the Negro workaday

singer as he is found behind prison bars, or with ball and chain, or in

humorous workaday retrospect or prospect of experiences what time he

pays the penalty for his misdoings. For these prison and road songs,

policeman and sheriff epics, jail and chain gang ballads constitute

an eloquent cross-section of the whole field of Negro songs. Many are

sung even as the ordinary work songs; others are improvised and varied.

One may listen to high-pitched voices, plaintive and wailing, until the

haunting melody will abide for days. The prisoners sing of every known

experience from childhood and home to “hard luck in the family, sho’

God, fell on me.” One youngster about twenty-one years of age, periodic

offender with experience on the chain gang and in jail, sang more than

one hundred songs or fragments and the end was not yet. They cannot be

described; selections are not representative. And yet, listen for a

while:

JAIL HOUSE WAIL

The jail’s on fire, Lawd,

The stockade’s burnin’ down.

Well, they ain’t got nowhere,

Lawd, to put the prisoners now.

Taken prisoners out o’ jail, Lawd,

Carried ’em to county road.

Say, I ruther be in chain gang

Than be in jail all time.

Say, jailer keep you bound down,

Lawd, say jailer dog you ’roun’.

Says if I had my way wid jailer,

I’d take an’ lock him in cell.

I’d take key an’ tie it on door,

An’ go long way from here, Lawd, Lawd.

Says jail keeper tol’ me, Lawd,

Gonna help me get back home.

When time come to be tried,

Jail keeper lied on me.

I told my mother not to worry at all,

Lawd, not to worry at all.

Lawd, goin’ to road, mama,

Tryin’ to make good time.

Mama, she cried all night long,

O mama, she cried all night long.

Well, she wiped her tears off,

Say, son, she won’t cry no more.

Mama come to the road, Lawd,

See her son on the gang.

I tol’ her not to bother,

Lawd, cause I got short time.

Once on the gang or in the jail continuous song is not unusual. Waking

folk with song in early morning, chanting after meal time, plaintive

in the evening, the Negro lives over his past life, gives expression

to his feelings, and plans the new day, “standin’ on rock pile with

ball an’ chain,” or “standin’ on rock pile, with hammer in my hand.”

He sings of past days, sorrows that some other man will get his girl,

boasts a woman in the white man’s yard--

My gal she bring me chicken,

My gal she bring me ham,

My gal she bring me everything,

An’ she don’t give a damn.

Sometimes he is more cheerful and sings, “cawn pone, fat meat, all I

gits to eat, better’n I git at home,” “Rings on my arms, bracelets on

my feet, stronger’n I has at home!” And with bunk for a bed and straw

for his head, he sings, “baby, baby, let me be.” How could he help

falling into the hands of the officers anyway?

’TAIN’T AS BAD AS I SAID

Good God a’-mighty!

What’s a fellow gonna do,

When ol’ black mariah[36]

Come a-sailin’ after you?

Good God a’-mighty!

My feet’s got wings,

Dey can take dis ol’ body

Lak she on ’iled springs.

Good God a’-mighty!

She’s right ’roun’ de corner,

Sho’s you bohn,

Dis nigger’s a goner.

Good God a’-mighty!

’Tain’t bad as I said,

Three square meals a day

An’ bunk fer a bed.

[36] “Black Mariah” is frequently encountered in Negro songs. It

refers to the patrol wagon.

The songs that follow will illustrate further the Negro’s story of

his prison life, his desire for freedom, his efforts to escape, his

attitude toward the policeman, jailer and sheriff, and his humorous

interpretation of various situations in which he finds himself. Vivid

pictures they are.

IF I CAN GIT TO GEORGIA LINE

If I can git to Georgia line,

If I can git to Georgia line,

Lawd, if I can git to Georgia line,

Georgia, murderer’s home.

Monday I was ’rested,

Tuesday I was fined,

Wednesday I laid in jail,

Thursday I was tried.

If I can git to Georgia line,

Lawd, if I can git to Georgia line,

O Lawd, if I can git to Georgia line,

Georgia, murderer’s home.

Don’t ask about it,

If you do I cry.

Don’t ask about it,

If you do I cry.

What did redbird, redbird

Say to crow, crow?

You bring rain, rain,

I bring snow, snow!

Friday wid chain gang band,

Saturday pick an’ shovel,

Sunday I took my rest,

Monday want to do my best.

Every, every mail day,

Mail day, I gits a letter,

Cryin’, “Son, come home,

Lawd, Lawd, come home.”

I didn’t have no,

No ready money,

I couldn’t go home.

No, no, couldn’t go home.

I’m on road here

Just a few days longer,

Then I’m goin’ home

Law’, Law’, I’m goin’ home.

GOT ME IN THE CALABOOSE

Got me in the calaboose,

Got me in the calaboose,

Got me in the calaboose,

Ain’t nobody turn me loose.

Hit’s bad, bad on the inside lookin’ out,

Hit’s bad, bad on the inside lookin’ out,

Hit’s bad, bad on the inside lookin’ out,

This po’ boy know what he’s talkin’ about.

My gal come to the bar and done peep in,

My gal come to the bar and done peep in,

My gal come to the bar and done peep in,

She say, “Honey man, where you been?”

When I git out I ain’t gonna stay here,

When I git out I ain’t gonna stay here,

When I git out I ain’t gonna stay here,

Ain’t let nobody treat me dis way.

Po’ boy, don’t give me no show,

Po’ boy, don’t give me no show,

Po’ boy, don’t give me no show,

Ain’t gonna be bossed around no mo’.

I DON’T MIND BEIN’ IN JAIL

I never turn back no more,

Lawd, I never turn back no more,

Every mail day I gets letter from my mother,

Say, “Son, son, come home.”

I been fallin’ ever since Mary was a baby,

An’ now she’s gone.

I’m nine hundred miles from home

An’ I can’t go home this way.

I wish I was a contractor’s son,

I’d stand on the bank and have the work well done.

If he don’t work, I’ll have him hung,

Lawd, if he don’t work, I’ll have him hung.

I wish I had a bank of my own,

I’d give all the po’ workin’ men a good happy home.

She used to be mine, look who’s got her now.

Sho’ can keep her, she don’t mean no good to me no mo’.

I laid in jail, back turned to the wall,

Told the jailer to put new man in my stall.

I don’t mind bein’ in jail

If I didn’t have to stay so long.[37]

[37] This stanza is found in somewhat different form in the popular

song entitled _Jail-House Blues_.

CHAIN GANG BLUES[38]

Standin’ on the road side,

Waitin’ for the ball an’ chain.

Say, if I was not all shackled down

I’d ketch that wes’ boun’ train.

Standin’ on the rock pile

Wid a hammer in my hand,

Lawd, standin’ on rock pile,

Got to serve my cap’n down in no-man’s land.

The judge he give me sentence

’Cause I wouldn’ go to work.

From sunrise to sunset

I have no other clean shirt.

All I got is lovin’,

Lovin’ an’ a-sluggin’,

Say I feels just like a stepchild,

Just gi’me the chain gang blues.

Oh, my captain call me

An’ my gal work in white folks’ yard.

I believe I’ll go there too,

’Cause I got the chain gang blues.

My gal she bring me chicken,

My gal she bring me ham,

My gal she bring me everything,

An’ she don’t give a damn.

My gal she got a molar

Right down below her nose,

She got teeth in her mouth

I’d swear to God was gold.

My gal she cried las’ night,

She cried the whole night long;

She cried because judge sentence me,

’Cause I had to go so long.

My gal she cried all night,

I told her not to worry at all.

I’m goin’ on the chain gang,

I ’spec’ I’ll be back in the fall.

[38] The first four stanzas of this song, except for some slight

variations, are also found in _Chain Gang Blues_, a popular

phonograph piece.

ALL BOUN’ IN PRISON[39]

Hey, jailer, tell me what have I done.

Got me all boun’ in prison,

Tryin’ to ’bide dis woman’s time,

Tryin’ to ’bide dis woman’s time.

_Chorus_:

All boun’ in prison,

All boun’ in jail,

Col’ iron bars all ’roun’ me,

No one to go my bail.

I got a mother and father

Livin’ in a cottage by de sea.

I got a sister and a brother, too,

Wonder do dey think o’ po’ me.

I walked in my room de udder night,

My man walked in and began to fight.

I took my gun in my right han’,

Told de folks I’m gonna kill my man.

When I said dat, he broke a stick ’cross my head.

First shot I made my man fell dead.

De paper comed out and strowed de news,

Das why I say I’s got de cell-bound blues.

[39] Cf. phonograph record, _Cell Bound Blues_.

I WENT TO DE JAIL HOUSE

O Lawd, Lawd, good Lawd, Lawd,

I went to de jail house, fell down on my knees.

I ask that jailer, “Captain, give me back my gal.”

Jailer told me, “Sorry, brother, she said her las’ goodbye.”

Lawd, I went to judge to ask for a fine.

Judge say, Lawd, he ain’t got no time.

Lawd, I laid in jail so long,

Ain’t got no home at all.

Good lawd, look-a here, jail keeper,

Won’t you put another gal in my stall?

Say, I been here so long,

Don’t know what I’ll do.

JUDGE GONNA SENTENCE US SO LONG

Say, brother, we better get ready to leave jail,

’Cause judge gonna sentence us so long.

Judge gonna sentence us so long,

We ain’t gonna come back here no mo’.

Lawd, we have laid in jail so long,

Lawd, we have laid in jail so long.

Say, judge sentence me so long,

He ain’t had no mercy on us.

Lawd, captain, come an’ got me,

Taken me to road to work.

Lawd, taken me out one mornin’,

Taken me out so soon.

Told captain didn’t know how to work.

Told me, “Shine, get down that line.”

I told the court, Lawd, “Rather be layin’ in jail

Wid my back turned to de wall.”

I am worried, pretty mama,

But I won’t be worried long.

Thought I rather be in my grave

Than be treated like a slave.

Say, rather be in Birmingham

Eatin’ pound cake and all.

Say, these women in Georgia

Keep you in trouble all the time.

Say, you better catch your train,

Go to Alabama bound.

I am leavin’ here, rider,

Sho’ don’t want to go.

But I ’spect I have to leave here,

Or I’ll be in chain gang, too.

Gonna git me a black woman,

Play safe all the time.

For your brown skin woman

Keep you in trouble all the time.

MY MAN HE GOT IN TROUBLE

Mr. T. Bluker,

Don’t work my man so hard,

’Cause he’s po’ player,

Ain’t never had no job.

Oh, my man he got in trouble,

He didn’t have no friend at all.

They carried him to jail house,

Locked him up in cell.

I asked the judge be light on him.

Judge told him not bring nothin’ like that,

Judge give him six months in jail,

Lawd, judge give him six months in jail.

Captain put him on the road.

“Captain, how long have I got?”

Captain say to the shine,

“Eat your supper and run on down the line.”

Captain say, “Git your supper,

Lawd, and change your clothes.”

Captain say, “Git your supper,

Git your chains and balls.”

THE JUDGE HE SENTENCE ME

I laid in the jail with my back to the wall,

I laid in the jail with my back to the wall,

Prayed to the Lord that

Big rock jail would fall.

The judge he sentence me, Lawd,

Give me twelve long months.

The judge he sentence me, Lawd,

Give me twelve long months.

Den captain come take me to de road.

I ask the captain what I gonna do.

Captain told me to pick and shovel too.

I rather be dead, Lawd, and in my grave.

Captain told me,

Say, “Lawd, you ain’t gonna work,

Lawd, you ain’t gonna work nowhere else

But on this chain gang.”

Say, “If I let you go home this time,

You be right back in jail.

When judge gets you again

Gonna give you five long years.”

Say, “If you don’t quit drinkin’

An’ don’t quit killin’, robbin’ and stealin’,

You gonna git life time

An’ in chain gang, too.”

Told captain, “I ain’t robbin’ no trains,

I swear to God I ain’t kill no man.”

Lawd, I told the captain, “I ain’t robbin’ no trains,

Swear to God I ain’t kill no man.”

I GOT A LETTER, CAPTAIN

I got a letter, captain,

Say, Lawd, come home,

Lawd, captain, come home,

Lawd, say, son, come home.

I don’t have, I don’t have,

Lawdy, I don’t have,

Lawdy, no ready-made money,

An’ I can’t go home.

I got a gal, Lawd,

Stays right in town.

I got a gal, Lawd,

Stays right in town.

Lawd, street car run

Right by her door,

Lawd, she don’t have to walk

Nowhere she go.

Say she take a walk up town,

Lawd, she take a walk up town.

Well, she got in town, Lawd,

An’ come back home.

Well, she caught street car

An’ come back home.

Lawd, she got street car,

Lawd, Lawd, an’ come back home.

PRISONER’S SONG[40]

Wished I had some one to love me,

Some one to call me their own,

Because I’m tired of livin’ alone,

Lawd, I’m tired of livin’ alone.

I has a gran’ ship on de ocean,

Filled wid silver an’ gold;

An’ befo’ my darlin’ should suffer,

Dat ship will be anchored an’ go.

I’ll be carried to de jail tomorrow,

Leavin’ my po’ darlin’ alone,

With the cold prison bars all around me

An’ my head on a pillow of stone.

If I had wings lak an angel,

Over dese prison bars I would fly.

An’ I would fly to the arms of my po’ darling,

An’ dere I’d lay down and die.

[40] Except for a few minor variations, this is the now popular

_Prisoner’s Song_. It was of folk origin, however.

WOKE UP WID MY BACK TO THE WALL

O Lawd, I woke up in the morning,

Woke up wid my back to the wall.

O Lawd, I woke up in the morning,

Woke up wid my back to the wall.

I took a peep out at the bars

O Lawd, I thought I was home.

Lawd, I heard a key rattlin’,

High-sheriff comin’ in.

Thought I heard a sheriff comin’,

Lawd, bring my breakfas’ to me.

Thought I see my coffin,

Lawd, rollin’ up to my do’.

Lawd, he say, “Dat gal say she don’t want you no mo’.”

Lawd, I lay right down, hung my head and cried.

Lawd, he say, “Dat gal say she don’t want you no mo’.”

Lawd, I laid right down in jail and cried.

Lawd, I’m so awful worried till I don’t know what to do.

Well, I mistreated Daddy, he hangs ’roun’ me day and night.

He wakes me in the mornings,

He moans when I am sleepin’.

He makes me swear, Lawd,

Have no other man but you.

In the Negro’s prison songs is revealed again that dual nature which

sings of sorrowful limitations alongside humorous and philosophical

resignation. Here are scenes of the lonesome road illuminated by

entertainment of rare quality. “I’m in jail now,” he sings, “but jes’

fer a day.” “I ain’t got no parole, but I’m a-comin’ back.” It is true

that he has only corn bread and fat meat to eat but that’s “better’n

I has at home.” And then with genuine humor he sings also of the iron

cuffs about his hands which also are “stronger’n I has at home.”

BETTER’N I HAS AT HOME

Cawn pone, fat meat,

All I gits to eat--

Better ’n I has at home,

Better ’n I has at home.

Cotton socks, striped clothes,

No Sunday glad rags at all--

Better ’n I gits at home,

Better ’n I gits at home.

Rings on my arms,

Bracelets on my feet--

Stronger ’n I has at home,

Stronger ’n I has at home.

Bunk fer a bed,

Straw under my head--

Better ’n I gits at home,

Better ’n I gits at home.

Baby, baby, lemme be,

Chain gang good enough fer me--

Better ’n I gits at home,

Better ’n I gits at home.

I’M COMIN’ BACK

I write you a letter

Sayin’, “Come back home.”

I sent you a message,

“Honey, don’t you roam.”

Comin’ back, comin’ back,

Hound on my track, yes baby,

I’m comin’ back.

Went to de gov’nor,

Ast a parole.

Dat man he answered,

“Not to save yer soul.”

Comin’ back, comin’ back;

Ain’t got no parole,

But I’m comin’ back.

Lawd, Lawd, I’m comin’ back,

Hounds on my track,

Ol’ clothes on my back,

Ol’ woman in my shack.

No parole, but

I’m comin’ back.

GOIN’ BACK TO DE GANG

De night wus dark, de guard wus gone,

I slipped dat chain off’n my laig,

De night wus dark, an’ de rain hit poured.

Dis nigger astray wid nowhere to board.

I’s hungry and cold, nowhere to go,

When de niggers see dese clothes, dey shets de do’.

Out all night, de dawgs am comin’,

Goin’ back to de gang, tired o’ bummin’.

Shin up a tree, no time to be los’,

’Cause here’s de dawgs, and, golly, de boss!

DEM CHAIN GANG HOUN’S

I ain’t no possum, I ain’t no squir’l,

But I can shin de highes’ tree in all de worl’,

When I hear dem houn’s, dem chain gang houn’s.

Hear dem ol’ houn’s, soun’ goes up to heav’n,

If dey’s one dawg, dey mus’ be ’lev’n.

Oh, dem houn’s, dat ol’ lead houn’.

’Tain’t good fer a nigger’s health to stay on de ground.

Hear dem houn’s, dem chain gang houn’s.

Come git me, boss, come take me down,

Anything’s better’n de chain gang houn’.

SHOOT, GOOD GOD, SHOOT!

De jedge and de jury

Thought ’twas a shame.

Dey called me up dere,

Axed me my name.

My God a-mighty,

What’s a feller gwiner do,

When a nigger gits his wife

An’ my wife, too?

Shoot, good God, shoot!

OL’ BLACK MARIAH

Look over de hill, see what’s a-comin’,

Ol’ black mariah, natchel-bo’n hummin’.

Drive up to de do’, grab me by de collar,

Good Lawd, man, ain’t got time to holler.

JES’ FER A DAY

I’m ’hind de bars, but jes’ fer a day,

’Cause walkin’ out de do’ ain’t de only way.

I’ve got a saw, and I work like de devil,

All t’ings in dis case am sho’ on de level.

ALL US NIGGERS ’HIND DE BARS

I got a gal, you got a gal,

All us niggers got a gal.

He fool ’roun’, I fool ’roun’,

All us niggers fool ’roun’.

I got a razor, he got a razor,

All us niggers got a razor.

I ’hind de bars, he ’hind de bars,

All us niggers ’hind de bars.

CHAPTER VI

SONGS OF CONSTRUCTION CAMPS AND GANGS

In the old days--and sometimes in more recent years--there were

characteristic and unforgettable scenes of groups of Negroes singing

in the fields. Here was a picture of late afternoon in the cotton

field, the friendly setting sun a challenge to reviving energies; rows

of cotton clean picked, rivalry and cheerful banter, faster picking

to the row’s end, sacks and baskets full for weighing time; group

singing, now joyous, then the melancholy tinge of eventide, _Swing

Low, Sweet Chariot_, _Since I Laid My Burden Down_ or _Keep Inchin’

Erlong_. Another picture is vivid: A spring morning, a few Negroes

following mule and plow, many chopping cotton to the accompaniment of

song, all making rhythm of song, movement, and clink of hoe resound

in rare harmony, duly interspersed with shouts and laughter. Or the

morning yodel or “cornfield holler,” with its penetrating vibrato,

_Ya-a-ee-ah--oo-a-ee-ou_--indescribable either in words, sound, or

musical notation.[41] Or wagons lumbering on cold mornings, drivers and

workers on the way to field or mill, songs echoing across the hills.

And there were the other group scenes: the roustabouts on the levee,

the singers around the cabins, the groups in the kitchen. Many of these

scenes, of course, in modified form may yet be found and songs of their

setting are still to be heard, but they do not constitute the most

commonly abounding characteristic workaday songs of the present.

[41] The phono-photographic record of such a yodel is given in

Chapter XV.

Modern scenes, however different, are no less impressive. Whoever

has seen a railroad section gang of five score Negroes working with

pick and shovel and hammer and bars and other tools, and has heard

them singing together will scarcely question the effectiveness of the

scene. Likewise steel drivers and pick-and-shovel men sing down a road

that is anything but “lonesome” now. Four pickmen of the road sing,

swinging pick up, whirling it now round and round and now down again,

movement well punctuated with nasal grunt and swelling song. Another

group unloading coal, another asphalt, another lime, or sand, sing

unnumbered songs and improvisations. Another group sings as workers

rush wheelbarrows loaded with stone or sand or dirt or concrete, or

still again line up on the roadside with picks and shovels. And of

course there are the songs of the chain gangs already described, but

nevertheless gang songs of the first importance. All these singers

constitute the great body of workers and singers who sing apparently

with unlimited repertoire. The selections in this chapter, as in the

others, are representative in that they were taken directly from Negro

singers and workers in the South during 1924 and 1925.

Among the most attractive of all the Negro workaday songs are those

sometimes called “free labor gang songs,”[42] of which there are many.

Some of these are reserved for Chapter VII in which many miscellaneous

examples of songs to help with work are given. Other samples have been

included in the “Songs of the Lonesome Road.” Examples of the melodies

are given in Chapter XV. It will be understood, of course, that other

songs such as _John Henry_, _Jerry on the Mountain_, _Lazarus_, are

sung in this capacity, although classified primarily in other groups

for the sake of better illustration.

[42] The Negroes use the term “free labor” to distinguish ordinary

work from convict labor.

“FREE LABOR” GANG SONG

Cap’n, did you hear ’bout

All yo’ men gonna leave you,

Nex’ pay day,

Lawd, Lawd, nex’ pay day?

Ev’y mail day,

Mail day, I gits letter,

From my dear ol’ mother,

She tell me, “Son, come home.”

That ol’ letter,

Read about dyin’.

Boy did you ever

Think about dyin’?

Then I can’t read it

Now for cryin’,

Tears run down,

Lawd, Lawd, tears run down.

Jes’ wait till

I make these few days I started,

I’m goin’ home,

Lawd, Lawd, I’m goin’ home.

Everywhere I

Look this morning,

Look lak rain,

Lawd, Lawd, look lak rain.

I got rainbow

Tied all ’roun’ my shoulder,

Ain’t gonna rain,

Lawd, Lawd, ain’t gonna rain.

Mike an’ Jerry

Come down main line Southern,

Didn’t stop to get

No water neither coal.

I done walk till

Feets gone to rollin’

Jes’ lak a wheel,

Lawd, Lawd, jes’ lak wheel.

Now ev’y time I,

Time I start ’round mountain,

My light goes out,

Lawd, Lawd, my light goes out.

I’m gonna buy me

Magnified lantern,

It won’t go out,

Lawd, Lawd, it won’t go out.

I got a wife,

Two-three children in mountain,

Cryin’ fer bread,

Lawd, Lawd, cryin’ fer bread.

O LAWD, MAMIE

O Lawd, Mamie,

Poke yo’ head out window,

Jes’ to see me fall,

Lawd, jes’ to see me fall.

I been fallin’

From my shoulder,

Lawd, I been fallin’

All day long.

O Lawd, Mamie,

If I make it

You shall have it,

If it’s all in gold.

I been fallin’

Ev’y since Mamie wus baby,

Now she’s grown,

Lawd, now she’s grown.

When we meet my

Little curly headed woman,

Bow yo’ head,

O Lawd, an’ tip yo’ hat.

If I make it

Through July an’ August,

O Lawd, I’ll be a man,

O Lawd, I’ll be a man.

HE-I-HEIRA

He-he-heira!

Look how my captain stan’,

Stand more like a farmer

Than he do a railroad man!

Oh, oh, oh!

If I had listen to what mama said.

I’d be at home now,

Lawd, in mama’s bed.

He-i-heira!

Believe I will

Take my pick,

Lawd, over on the hill.

Goin’ up town,

Hurry right back,

Gonna see Corinne

When she ball that jack.

Oh, oh, Lawd, oh,

Goin’ on up town,

Buy my gal a hat,

Lawd, buy my gal a hat.

She brought it back, Lawd,

Laid it on the shelf

Every time she turn around

Makes her wanter jazz.

Goin’ up town, Lawd,

Gonna walk in the yard;

Two-and-a-half hours to work,

Work ain’t hard.

O you, down, boys,

Yes, we goin’ down.

O you, down, boys,

Yes, we goin’ down.

I don’t know,

But believe I will

Make my home

In Jacksonville.

SECTION BOSS

Yonder come the engine

Ringin’ o’ the bell;

Engineer on the right,

Fireman on the left.

See the engine makin’ time,

See the engineer gone.

Fall off the car,

Throw off the tools.

Throw off the tools,

Let the engine go by.

If I could run like he runs,

I’d run an’ never stop.

See the train makin’ up speed,

See the cars go ’long.

If I had wings like that engine,

I could run an’ fly.

I could pull the bell,

I could blow the whistle,

I could pull the bell,

An’ let the engine run.

If I could run like he runs,

I never would quit,

I’d always railroad

I’d always run an’ fly.

The mind of the worker and wanderer is perhaps reflected better in

his annals of the day’s work as expressed in his “captain” songs than

anywhere else. Some of the “captain” songs have been sung until they

are on the verge of folk songs; some approach the haven of the blues,

and many more are in the formative stage. The examples immediately

following in this chapter are combinations of all three, with the

predominating mode that of combination and improvisation. Some of

them are clearly songs of the chain gang as well as of free labor

construction work. That they are fairly accurate portrayals of the

worker and his task, of the captain and his ways, of the thoughts and

customs of the worker and singer will be evident to any one who knows

the field. To the uninitiated the laborer is merely a laborer, silent,

reserved, certainly keeping back from the white man his innermost

thoughts, wishes, and feelings. But hear him sing--hear him repeat the

formal songs, hear him make new ones.

O CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN[43]

O captain, captain,

Where you been so long?

O captain, I been at home

An’ done got in trouble again.

O captain, captain,

Won’t you be kind?

Don’t work me so hard,

Captain, I been used to light work.

O captain, captain,

I ain’t used to no hard work.

O captain, captain,

Won’t you be light on me?

O captain, captain,

If you be light on me,

When I git back home

I won’t be hard on you.

O captain, captain,

Where we gonna work?

“Oh, we goin’ down the road,

Pick and shovel dirt.”

O captain, captain, call me

An’ I didn’ hear;

Captain took me back

To bodyguard.

O Lawd, captain, captain,

On the side of the bank,

Lawd, Lawd, buddy,

I’m too tired to work.

O captain, captain,

I done got too hot

Captain, O Lawd, captain,

Let po’ Shine rest.

Captain, O Lawd, captain,

I set down on a bank,

O Lawd, captain, captain,

Set down on a bank.

O captain, captain,

I cannot work no longer,

’Cause I’s done, O Lawd,

Lawd, Lawd, I’s done.

O captain, captain,

Po’ boy done got too hot,

O Lawd, captain, captain,

An’ I couldn’t make it go.

Captain, captain,

You got letter from my mother,

Captain, captain,

Read it all the way through.

Lawd, she say, “Son,

Lawd, come back home.”

Lawd, Lawd, she say,

“Son, come back home.”

Captain, captain,

Ain’t got no ready money.

Captain, O Lawd, captain,

Won’t you loan me some?

Sittin’ in dining room,

O Lawd, captain,

Sittin’ in dining room

In yo’ chair.

O Lawd, captain,

I aint too dumb,

Hear yo’ back door slam,

Lawd God a-mighty.

I got a letter,

Letter from my brown.

My brown she dyin’,

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.

I got a letter,

Letter from my rider.

My rider was dyin’,

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.

Lawd, gonna follow

My brown, Lawd, Lawd.

Gonna follow my brown

To buryin’ groun’.

[43] This song and some others in this chapter are excellent

illustrations of the chain gang sentiment becoming mixed with

ordinary “free labor” gang songs.

I’M GOIN’ BACK HOME

I can jerry,[44] I can jerry

All around the mountain.

Lord, I can jerry, I can jerry

All the way home.

Lord, I see my gal a-comin’,

Lord, to bring me my dinner.

Lord, I see my gal a-comin’,

Lord, I’m goin’ home.

Lord, she brought me something,

Lord, she brought me something good.

Lord, she brought me good dinner,

Didn’t know what it was.

Lord, I’m gonna buy me rubber-tire hack,

Lord, I’m gonna buy me rubber-tire hack,

Lord, I’m gonna buy me rubber-tire hack,

Goin’ home, take me right back.

I’m tired workin’, Lord,

Lord, I’m tired workin’.

Goin’ buy me rubber-tire hack,

Take me back home.

Lord, captain standin’,

He may hear me sing,

Lord, some old day

I’m goin’ back home.

Lord, I reckon I’ll sell my,

Lord, I reckon I’ll sell my rubber-tire hack

An’ buy me a Ford, Lord,

Buy me a Ford.

Lord, captain told me,

O Lord, captain told me,

Time to go to dinner,

Lord, we’re goin’ back home.

Lord, I got back home

An’ had my dinner.

Lord, I went and et,

Lord, I got back home.

Then ’bout half pas’ one

Captain call us all,

Say we got a-go back,

Lord, say we got a-go back to work.

Lord, some o’ these mornings,

Lord, some o’ these mornings,

Captain ain’t gonna hear me sing

’Cause I’m goin’ back home.

Sunshine in my back door,

Lord, sunshine in my back door,

Some o’ these mornings, Lord, captain,

I’m goin’ back home.

Lord, my gal cryin’ all day,

Lord, my gal cryin’ all day.

Lord, she made a pallet on floor

’Cause she’s feelin’ right bad.

Captain say, “O Shine,

When you go home,

Say, Shine, you comin’ back?”

Yes, captain, O Lord, captain.

Yonder come my girl,

Comin’ down the track.

Bring me good cool water,

Keep cool all day long.

I got sun low ’cross the field,

I got sun low ’cross the field plowin’.

Lord, Lord, he tol’ me,

O Lord, it was too hot.

Lord, took out the mules,

Lord, I took out my mules

An’ went straight home,

’Cause it was too hot.

[44] The meaning of this expression is uncertain. In other songs it

appears as “Hikin’ Jerry” or “Mike and Jerry.” There is a tradition

among the Negro workers that two large mules, named Mike and Jerry,

broke loose from their driver and hiked a remarkable distance in one

day. If this was the origin of the song, then “I can Jerry” is a

result of misunderstanding.

MY HOME AIN’T HERE, CAPTAIN

H-e-y- L-a-w-d, Lawd, Lawd,

O Lawd, Lawd, captain.

My home ain’t here, captain,

An’ I ain’t got to stay.

I’m goin’ back home, captain,

I’m long time sinner, goin’ back home.

Ol’ Aunty Dinah had candy wagon,

I ast her could I be her driver.

Lawd, Lawd, tol’ me “No,”

Lawdy, Lawd, tol’ me “No.”

O captain, captain, what’s matter now?

Ain’t thing matter, but I ain’t gwine.

Woke up dis mornin’ ’bout half pas’ fo’,

Cap’n call me, but I jes’ ain’t gonna go.

O Lawd, captain, captain,

How long you gonna hold dis job?

Lawd, captain you look jes’ lak new man

Comin’, Lawd, on dis job.

Cap’n, captain, will you send me some water,

Ain’t had none since dis long mornin’.

All I hate ’bout captain, Lawd,

He want to take me by de tent.

Captain, captain, do you drink co’n liquor?

“Yes, by God, but I ain’t got none now.”

Captain, captain, when you go to town,

Bring me back a God-damn dram.

Captain, captain, I won’t let on,

Lawdy, O Lawdy, captain, I won’t let on.

O Lawd, captain, captain, O Lawd,

Won’t you let me go home?

Captain tol’ me I have to wait,

O Lawd, till I work out my time.

Captain call me an’ I laugh,

Cap’n get shoe shine off my britches.

O captain, don’t think hard of me,

O Lawd, captain, I don’t mean no harm.

Captain, captain, don’t mean no harm,

Jes’ won’t carry on no fun.

Captain, what kin’ o’ state you come from?

Come from country or come from town?

Captain say, “I come out o’ town,

Lawdy, I’ll lay yo’ body down.”

Captain, captain, you look mo’ lak farmer

Than you look lak guard man.

CAPTAIN, I’LL BE GONE

O Lawd, captain, hurry, hurry?

Captain, you can’t take my time.

What’s the use o’ hurryin’?

’Cause I got a life time.

Captain, captain, what time o’ day?

Captain, captain, what time o’ day?

Say he look at Waterbury,

Throw his watch away.

Lawd, captain, captain, did you hear,

Lawd, captain, did you hear about it?

All your men gonna leave you,

All your men gonna leave you on next pay day.

On next pay day, Lawd,

On next pay day, Lawd.

Captain, all your men gonna be gone

On next pay day.

Captain gonna call me some of these mornings,

Lawd, I’m gonna be gone.

Captain gonna call me, go back home,

Lawd, Lawd, I’ll be gone.

Wake up one mornin about half pas’ fo’,

Ask captain could I git drink of water.

Wake up one mornin’ about half pas’ fo’,

Ask captain could I git drink of water.

Captain tol’ me to git my pick and shovel,

Git on down the line.

Captain tol’ me to git my pick and shovel,

Git on down the line.

Lawd, captain carried me to the road,

Tol’ me I had to work.

Tol’ my captain I couldn’t pick and shovel,

Captain told me have to carry me back to camp.

I ask the captain how long I got.

Captain told me git my shovel,

Say, “Git on down the line,

Lawd, git on down the line.”

Say I went to road, captain.

Captain put chains all ’round my legs.

I tol’ captain no use to chain me,

’Cause ain’t gonna run no mo’.

Captain say, “Yes, I know you won’t run,

’Cause I gonna chain you good.”

Lawd, say, “Yes, I know you won’t run,

’Cause I gonna chain you good.”

Captain, captain, little too hard on me,

Lawd, captain little too hard on me.

Captain, captain, I’ll be glad to git home;

I’ll never come this way no mo’.

Captain called water boy,

Water boy begun to laugh.

Cap’n got shoe shine

Off water boy’s pants.

Captain mus’ be big,

Weighs two-fifty pounds.

Captain, Lawd, mus’ be big,

Weighs two-fifty pounds.

Captain, captain, good long ways,

Lawd, captain, come from Chicago.

I ask the captain the time of day,

Say, “None of you damn business to know.”

IF I’D A-KNOWN MY CAP’N WAS BLIN’[45]

If I’d a-known my cap’n was blin’, darlin’,

If I’d a-known my cap’n was blin’, darlin’,

If I’d a-known my cap’n was blin’

I wouldn’ a-went to work till ha’f pas’ nine, darlin’.

Cap’n, cap’n, you must be cross, darlin’,

Cap’n, cap’n, you must be cross, darlin’,

Cap’n, cap’n, you must be cross,

Five-thirty an’ you won’t knock off, darlin’.

When I’m late an’ behin’, darlin’,

When I’m late an’ behin’, darlin’,

When I’m late an’ behin’,

I can’t go to work till ha’f pas’ nine, darlin’.

Why I love my cap’n so, darlin’,

Why I love my cap’n so, darlin’

Why I love my cap’n so,

Ask him for a dollar an’ he give me fo’, darlin’.

[45] For music see Chapter XIV.

I TOL’ MY CAP’N THAT MY FEET WAS COL’[46]

I tol’ my cap’n that my feet was col’.

“God damn yo’ feet, let the car wheel roll.”

Cap’n, cap’n, old Ben won’t pull.

“God damn his soul, put the harness on the bull.”

Cap’n Morgan and Bill Dolin come to line this track,

Pick it up and shake it back.

Cap’n, cap’n the track is wet.

“Knock ’er right on, black boy, till the evenin’ sun do set.”

Cap’n, cap’n, can you tell

The track is slick and cold as hell?

CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN, LET WHEELERS ROLL

Captain, captain, let wheelers roll,

Captain, captain, Lawd, let wheelers roll.

Told my captain hands an’ feet wus cold,

Say, “You ought-a warm ’em befo’ you come here.”

Captain call me early in mo’nin’,

Call me to shake six-hoss plow.

I told my captain, captain,

I could not shake dis plow.

O captain, captain, what time you gonna quit?

“’Tain’t none o’ yo’ business when I quit.”

Gonna buy me ticket, long as my long right arm,

Gonna catch dat train call Cannon Ball.

Goin’ to Atlanta, gonna spend de night,

Gonna catch dat train dey call Western Sight.

Goin’ to New York an’ I aint comin’ back,

Lawd, I ain’t gonna come back at all.

Say, I’m in trouble, Lawd, Lawd,

I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Say, if you want to see me, Lawd,

You’ll have to come where I am.

Say, I’m long way off, mama,

I ain’t comin’ back at all.

Have you ever seen risin’ sun,

Seen risin’ sun turn over?

Lawd, makes me feel low down,

Lawd, lak I’m on my las’ go-’round.

Lawd, I hate to see you go,

Make me feel so low down.

Lawd, Lawd, have you ever seen,

Lawd, wild cat hug a lion?

Say, hug him so hard, Lawd,

Wild cat hug him so hard.

Lawd, captain, I’m workin’ on road,

An’ I’m in trouble again.

Lawd, you won’t come see me,

An’ I’m workin’ in chains.

Lawd, I’m not comin’ home no mo’,

O Lawd, I’m not comin’ home no mo.

Now I don’t want you here no mo’,

Yo’ hair look lak curry comb.

I got brown woman better’n you,

Lawd, I don’t want you no mo’.

[46] For music see Chapter XIV.

’WAY UP IN THE MOUNTAIN

’Way up in the mountain

Diggin’ coal,

All I hates about diggin’ coal,

I can’t find my parole.

Peach and honey,

Rock and rye,

You can line track

If you try.

Goin’ up Church Street,

Comin’ down Main,

Huntin’ for a woman

That ain’t got no man.

Trottin’ Liza,

She come a-trottin’

By one this mornin’

With ’er head rag on.

Blues on my mind,

Blues all ’round my head.

I dream last night

That the man I love was dead.

I went to the graveyard,

Fell down on my knees.

I ask the grave-digger

To give me back my railroad man.

The grave-digger,

He looked me in the eye and said,

“I’m sorry to tell you,

But yo’ good man is dead.”

Thirty days in jail

With my back turned to the wall.

Please, Mr. Jailer,

Put another man in my stall.

I don’t mind stayin’ there

But I got to stay so long, so long,

Ever’ friend I had

Done shook hands an’ gone.[47]

[47] This stanza and the preceding one are also found in a popular

song, _Jail-House Blues_.

DON’T YOU GIVE ME NO CORNBREAD

I don’t want no cornbread, black molasses,

Supper time, O my Lawd, supper time.

Don’t you give me cornbread, black molasses,

Supper time, O my Lawd, my supper time.

Don’t let the ’gaiter

Beat you to the pone,

Give you mo’ trouble

Than days done gone.

Put ’em up solid

An’ they won’t come down.

When I gets in Illinois

I won’t be bothered with the lowland boys.

John the Baptist, he declare

That none but the righteous

Will be there

In the mornin’, oh, when I rise.

I got a woman

On Jennielee Square;

If you would die easy,

Let me ketch you there.

The reason I stay

With captain so long,

Ever’ morning he give me

Biscuits to rear back on.

Little Evaline

Sittin’ in the shade,

Figurin’ on the money

I done made.

Captain got a lugger

Tryin’ to play bad,

I’m goin’ to take it in the mornin’

If he makes me mad.

JULY’S FOR THE RED-BUG

July’s for the red-bug,

August for the fly,

I’m diggin’ for the bottom,

Bottom must be dry.

I ask my captain

What was the time of day.

Captain got so mad,

Threw his watch away.

I told my captain,

Captain, my feet was cold.

“Doggone your feet, Lawd,

Let the wheelbar’ roll.”

I told my captain,

Just to keep down trouble,

I reckon I must obey.

Here come the chain gang boss.

But after all there are no workaday songs superior to the gang songs,

heave-a-horas, steel-driving songs, short pick-and-shovel songs, and

the scores of other short specimens which accompany special tasks

requiring hard work, team unison, or continuous effort. There is, of

course, no attempt here to present even an approach to exhaustive

lists. We have so far found no intimation of where the number of such

songs will stop. But the examples which follow are adequate to continue

the portraiture of the Negro as he works and as he sings.

BOYS, PUT YO’ HANDS ON IT

O boys, put yo’ hands on it,

O boys, put yo’ hands on it,

When I say go, boys, go!

O boys, put yo’ hands on it,

O boys, when I holler set it on time,

Everybody goes around.

Say pick up, boys, pick up high,

Goin’ line that track steel,

O boys, pick it up high.

Say, boys, when you get back here,

Pick up that steel,

Say, put your hands on it.

Say, boys, put your hands on it,

Everybody goin’ to jump at it.

Set it in the bed, boys.

Say, boys, raise your hand higher,

Says, boys, raise your hand higher,

Everybody goin’ to jump at it.

NEVER TURN BACK[48]

No mo’, oh, no mo’!

No mo’, oh, never no mo’!

My Lord

Be here.

I will never

Turn back,

Never turn back

No mo’, no mo’.

If you get there

Befo’ I do,

Oh, you can tell ’em

I’m comin’ too.

I will never turn back,

Never turn back no mo’.

An’ I would never turn back,

Never turn back no mo’.

Jesus my all

To heaven is gone,

An’ whom may I fix

My hopes upon?

No mo’, no mo’,

No mo’, never, my Lawd,

I would never turn back,

Never turn back no mo’.

[48] Here a spiritual theme is used as a gang song.

NO MORE

~No~--~more~,

~No~--~more~,

~No~--~more~,

O--~Lord~.

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

~No~--~more~,

I’m--~through~,

I’m--~through~,

I’m--~through~,

O--~Lord~.

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

I’m--~through~.

I’m--~tired~,

I’m--~tired~,

I’m--~tired~,

O--~Lord~.

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

I’m--~tired~.

I’m--~goin~’,

I’m--~goin~’,

I’m--~goin~’,

O--~Lord~.

O--~Lord~,

O--~Lord~,

~Yes~, O--~Lord~,

I’m--~tired~.

ALL RIGHT

~All~--~right~,

O--~Lord~,

~All~--~right~,

~Push~--~on~.

~All~--~right~,

O--~Lord~,

~Let~’s--~go~,

~Little~--~mo~’.

~All~--~right~,

O--~Lord~,

~Get~--~it~--~over~,

~Let~’s--~go~.

~All~--~right~,

O--~Lord~,

~Get~--~around~--~it~--~boys~,

~Let~’s--~go~.

~All~--~right~--~boys~,

~Pick~--~it~--~up~,

~Gang~--~around~--~it~,

~Let~’s--~go~.

HELP ME DRIVE ’EM[49]

O King’s Mountain,

O King’s Mountain,

O King’s Mountain,

So high!

O run here, buddy,

O run here, buddy,

O run here, buddy,

O boy!

O help me drive ’em,

O help me drive ’em,

O help me drive ’em,

All day!

[49] This is an example of a steel-driving song. As the driver raises

his hammer he sings a line, then stops singing for a moment, brings

the hammer down with a grunt, then sings another line, and so on.

The technique is the same as the digging technique described in some

detail in Chapter XIV.

I BELONG TO STEEL-DRIVIN’ CREW

O shake ’em up, buddy,

An’ I’ll drive ’em down;

O shake ’em up, buddy,

An’ I’ll drive ’em down;

I belong to steel-drivin’ crew,

Lawd, I belong to steel-drivin’ crew.

O lovin’ buddy,

Where you been so long?

O lovin’ buddy,

Where you been so long?

I belong to steel-drivin’ crew,

Lawd, I belong to steel-drivin’ crew.

O BUCKEYE RABBIT

The rabbit run, the rabbit jumped,

The rabbit skipped the river.

O buckeye rabbit, hey, hey!

O buckeye rabbit, Susan!

O buckeye rabbit, hey, hey!

The rabbit skipped the river!

U--H, U--H, LAWDY[50]

U--h, u--h, Lawdy,

I wonder why

I got to live

Fer de by an’ de by.

U--h, u--h, Lawdy,

Don’t you bother me.

I’m always mighty happy

When I’m on a spree.

U--h, u--h, Lawdy,

U--h, u--h, Lawdy,

U--h, u--h, Lawdy,

U--h, Lawdy, u--h, Lawdy, po’ me!

[50] This is an example of a pick song, although it could be used, of

course, for almost any kind of rhythmic work. For a description of

the singing-digging technique see Chapter XIV.

THIS OL’ HAMMER

This ol’ hammer, hammer

Mus’ be loaded;

This ol’ hammer, hammer

Mus’ be loaded;

This ole’ hammer, hammer

Mus’ be loaded;

Do bear down,

Do bear down.

Bitin’ spider, where did

You leave Trottin’ Sallie?

Bitin’ spider, where did

You leave Trottin’ Sallie?

Bitin’ spider, where did

You leave Trottin’ Sallie?

In Birmingham, O Lawd,

In Birmingham.

WE ARE CLAMBIN’ JACOB’S LADDER[51]

Get ’em over yonder,

Get ’em long,

Get ’em short.

Lord, get ’em over yonder,

Get ’em over yonder.

We are clambin’, clambin’

Jacob’s ladder,

Jacob’s ladder.

Oh, we are clambin’ Jacob’s ladder,

Almos’ home, yes, almos’ home.

Every little roun’ gets

Higher and higher,

Higher and higher.

Every little roun’ gets higher and higher,

Almos’ home, home, almos’ home.

[51] Here a theme from a spiritual is made to do service as a pick

song.

REASON I STAY ON JOB SO LONG[52]

Reason I stay on job so long,

Lawd, dey gimme flamdonies

An’ coffee strong.

Reason I love my captain so,

’Cause I ast him for a dollah,

Lawd, he give me fo’.

Reason why I love Boleen,

She keeps my house

An’ shanty clean.

Why I like Roberta so,

She rolls her jelly

Like she do her dough.

[52] For music see Chapter XIV.

HOT FLAMBOTIA AN’ COFFEE STRONG

Reason I stay on job so long,

Oh, reason I stay on job so long,

O Lawd, reason I stay on job so long:

Hot flambotia an’ coffee strong.

Hot flambotia an’ coffee strong,

Yes, Lawd, hot flambotia an’ coffee strong.

O Lawd, hot flambotia an’ coffee strong,

Reason I stay on job so long.

I’M GOIN’ ON[53]

I’m gonna row here,

I’m gonna row here,

I’m gonna row here few days longer,

Then, Lawd, I’m goin’ on.

Oh, I’m gonna row here,

Lawd, I’m gonna row here,

Yes, Lawd, I’m gonna row here few days longer,

Then I’m goin’ on.

Yes, Lawd, I’m goin’ on,

Then, Lawd, I’m goin’ on,

Yes, Lawd, I’m gonna row here few days longer,

Then I’m goin’ on.

[53] This song has been heard also as “I’m on road here few days

longer” and “I’m gonna roll here few days longer.” “Row” may well be

a corruption of “road” or “roll.”

I DON’T WANT NO TROUBLE WITH DE WALKER[54]

I don’t want no,

Want no trouble with de walker.

I don’t want no,

Want no trouble with de walker.

I wanta go home,

Lawd, Lawd, I wanta go home.

Oh, me an’ my buddy

Jes’ came here this mornin’.

Wanta go home,

Lawd, Lawd, wanta go home.

I can drive it,

Drive it long as anybody.

Wanta go home,

Lawd, Lawd, wanta go home.

Cap’n, did you hear about,

Hear about two your womens gonna leave you?

Wanta go home,

Lawd, Lawd, wanta go home.

I’m gonna roll here,[55]

Roll here a few days longer.

I’m goin’ home,

Lawd, Lawd, I’m goin’ home.

Cap’n an’ walker,

Walker been raisin’ san’.

Cap’n told walker

He could git ’im another man.

Lawd, dey got my buddy,

Buddy an’ his forty-fo!

Next ’lect’ocution

Dey’ll git him sho’.

[54] This is a pick song commonly heard around Chapel Hill, N. C. The

“walker” refers to the walking boss or overseer on the job. The first

two lines of each stanza are repeated as shown in the first stanza.

For music see Chapter XIV.

[55] See footnote, p. 112.

I DON’T WANT NO CORNBREAD[56]

I don’t want no,[57]

Want no cornbread, peas, an’ molasses;

I don’t want no,

Want no cornbread, peas, an’ molasses,

At supper time,

Lawd, Lawd, at supper time.

Oh, hand me down a

Can o’ corn an’ tomatoes,

For my meal,

Lawd, Lawd, for my meal.

My little woman,

She don’t treat me like she used to.

No she don’t,

Lawd, Lawd, no she don’t.

She used to feed me,

Feed me on biscuits an’ butter

For my meal,

Lawd, Lawd, for my meal.

She used to give me,

Give me lots o’ huggin’ every mornin’.

Now she don’t,

Lawd, Lawd, now she don’t.

[56] This is sung to the same tune as the preceding song, _I Don’t

Want No Trouble With the Walker_, the music of which is given in

Chapter XIV.

[57] All of the stanzas have this form, first two lines always

repeated.

Turning from the songs of construction or railroad gangs, some of

the mixed songs, partly remnants of former years, partly products of

sophistication, may be cited. There are many songs about the white man

and the captain, excellent samples of which have already been cited

in this chapter. Some were given in _The Negro and His Songs_ and

many more are to be found. Indeed, songs about the white man may well

constitute a separate chapter in a later volume. A stock joke among

the older Negroes used to be that of telling how the white man always

brought “nigger out behind.” The modern singer, albeit not always in

joking mood, still thrusts “at” his “captain” or “boss” or “white man.”

“Captain,” he sings, “you look mo’ lak farmer than railroad man,” and

with considerable glee asks, “Captain, captain, where’d you come frum?”

On the other hand, reminiscent of farm days and echoing current life,

he still sings:

Niggers plant the cotton,

Niggers pick it out,

White man pockets money,

Niggers does without.

In another song the Negro complained that no matter if he worked all

the time, “Boss sho’ bring nigger out behin’.” So now in some Georgia

scenes he sings:

NOTHIN’ TO KEEP

Up at fo’ ’clock,

Work till dark,

Wages han,’

I’m de man.

Twelve a month an’ boa’d,

Lawd, twelve a month an’ boa’d.

Hope I die,

Mo’ I try,

I comes out

Owin’ boss mo’,

I comes out,

Lawd, owin’ boss mo’.

Plenty to eat,

Place to sleep,

All night to stray about;

But nothin’ fer a feller,

Lawd, nothin’ fer

A feller to keep.

EVERYBODY CALL ME THE WAGES MAN

Early in the spring I’m plowin’ my lan’,

Early in the spring I’m plowin’ my lan’,

Early in the spring I’m plowin’ my lan’,

Everybody calls me the wages man,

Baby, baby.

Next down de row with guano horn,

Next down de row with guano horn,

Next down de row with guano horn,

Never work so hard since I’ve been born,

Baby, baby.

Little bit later I swings de hoe,

Little bit later I swings de hoe,

Little bit later I swings de hoe,

I’se de nigger dat leads de row,

Baby, baby, baby.

Sack an’ basket all that I pick,

Sack an’ basket all that I pick,

Sack an’ basket all that I pick,

Never stop for nothin’, even if you sick,

Baby, baby.

White man in starched shirt settin’ in shade,

White man in starched shirt settin’ in shade,

White man in starched shirt settin’ in shade,

Laziest man that God ever made,

Baby, baby.

MISSUS IN DE BIG HOUSE

Missus in de big house,

Mammy in de yard.

Missus holdin’ her white hands,

Mammy workin’ hard,

Mammy workin’ hard,

Mammy workin’ hard.

Missus holdin’ her white hands,

Mammy workin’ hard.

Ol’ marse ridin’ all time,

Niggers workin’ ’roun’.

Marse sleepin’ day time,

Niggers diggin’ in de groun’,

Niggers diggin’ in de groun’,

Niggers diggin’ in de groun’.

Marse sleepin’ day time,

Niggers diggin’ in de groun’.

CHAPTER VII

JUST SONGS TO HELP WITH WORK

In some respects it is unfortunate that classification of the Negro

workaday songs must be attempted, for, strictly speaking, accurate

classification is not possible. There is much overlapping apparent in

most of the best types. There are mixed pictures in the majority and

a cross index would be necessary for any sort of complete analysis.

And yet the total picture is clearer when the songs are grouped

according to prevailing themes, as has been done in other chapters on

the wanderer songs, the bad man ballads, chain gang and jail songs,

favorites of the construction gang, songs of woman, songs of man, and

religious remnants. In each of these classes it is readily seen that

there is abundance of new material of great value. And yet, after

these attempts at classification, there are scores of songs, some

the favorites of the present day, some among the most attractive,

which appear best as simple work songs, sung as an integral physical

part of the Negro’s workaday efforts. These songs are not simply the

“miscellaneous” and “all others” group. They are more than that; they

are the songs for song’s sake, expression for expression’s sake, and

“hollerin’ jes’ to he’p me wid my work.”

This chapter, therefore, presents a varied group of songs, many of

which, for simple spontaneity, imagery, and creative art might well

represent the choice of the collection. Among these are the lyric

types like those quoted in Chapter I, figures of a “rainbow ’round

my shoulders,” the “feet rollin’ lak a wheel,” the winter song

in summer, and many other fragments of similar quality. There are

fragments, pick-and-shovel songs, driving songs, mostly short, which

are sung perhaps more often than any others by the group of workers.

This chapter will present, first, some of the miscellaneous and more

artistic songs that are most difficult to classify except as “just

songs to help with work.” Then will follow certain types, corruptions

from blues, jazz and minstrel, but sung on any and all occasions, one

as well as another, in the kitchen, on the road, in the field, in the

alley, in the barber shop, or on the street. Then, finally, there will

be the group of incoherent words and lines, senseless for the most part

and merely expressive of feeling and effort. In addition to these there

are still more than one hundred miscellaneous songs, improvisations,

fragments and other collected items which must await a special

collection of this sort.

One of the most attractive of all the work songs is _Mule on the

Mountain_, in which the title constitutes the bulk of the song. It is

a pick-and-shovel favorite repeated over and over with variations and

exclamations. The simplest form of this song is as follows:

MULE ON THE MOUNTAIN

Mule on mountain

Called Jerry,

I can ride ’im

Any time I want to;

Lawd, I can ride ’im

Any time I want to.

In the following version this simple stanza has taken seven others for

companions, thus making a lengthy pick song.

I GOT A MULIE[58]

I got a mulie,

Mulie on the mountain, call ’im Jerry.

I got a mulie,

Mulie on the mountain, call ’im Jerry.

I can ride ’im,

Ride ’im any time I want to,

Lawd, Lawd, all day long.

Lawd, this ol’ mountain,

Mountain must be hanted,

My light goes out,

Lawd, Lawd, my light goes out.

I’m gonna buy me,

Buy me a magnified lantern.

’Twon’t go out,

Lawd, Lawd, won’t go out.

I’m gonna buy me,

Buy me a winchester rifle,

Box o’ balls,

Lawd, Lawd, box o’ balls.

I gonna back my,

Back myself in the mountains

To play bad,

Lawd, Lawd, to play bad.

Mike an’ Jerry[59]

Must be a gasoline burner;

Didn’t stop here,

Lawd, Lawd, didn’t stop here.

Mike an’ Jerry

Hiked from Jerome to Decatur[60]

In one day,

Lawd, Lawd, in one day.

Didn’t stop here, Lawd,

To get no coal, neither water,

Hiked on by,

Lawd, Lawd, hiked on by.

[58] For music see Chapter XIV.

[59] See footnote, p. 96.

[60] Probably refers to Rome and Decatur, Georgia. The distance

between these two places is about a hundred miles, a pretty good

“hike” for the mules if they made it in one day!

Very much after the same manner and type is the pick-and-shovel song,

_Lookin’ over in Georgia_, which apparently has nothing specific as its

historical base and no more sense to it than _Mule on the Mountain_.

And yet it is one of the prettiest of Negro songs when accompanied by

group movement, rhythm, and harmony.

LOOKIN’ OVER IN GEORGIA

Well I can stan’,

Lookin’ ’way over in Georgia;

Well I can stan’,

Lookin’ ’way over in Georgia;

Well I can stan’,

Lookin’ ’way over in Georgia,

O-eh-he, Lawd, Lawd,

She’s burnin’ down,

Lawd, she’s burnin’ down.

For sheer artistry, however, one would have to search a long time

to find a superior to the following verses, sung by a young Negro

workingman, on platform and swing, washing the brick walls of a newly

constructed university building.

BEAR CAT DOWN IN GEORGIA

I’ll be back here,

I’ll be back here,

Lawd, Lawd,

I’ll be back here.

Bear cat, Lawd,

Bear cat, Lawd,

Turn to lion

Down in Georgia.

Look-a yonder,

Look-a yonder,

Lawd, Lawd,

Down in Georgia.

Ever see bear cat

Turn to lion,

Lawd, Lawd,

Down in Georgia?

My ol’ bear cat,

My ol’ bear cat

Turn to lion,

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.

Ever see a bear cat

Hug a lion,

Lawd, Lawd,

Down in Georgia?

If I make it,

If I make it,

Lawd, Lawd,

Down in Georgia.

Lord, I been fallin’,

Lord, I been fallin’,

Lawd, Lawd,

From my place.

’Fo’ long, Lawd,

Yes, ’fo’ long, Lawd,

I’ll be back here,

I’ll be back here.

Scarcely less mixed and informal is the delightful song _Shoot that

Buffalo_ sung in low undertone suitable to any sort of work such as

digging, cutting, laying rock, unloading coal or gravel, or doing

domestic duties. The melody of this “song just to help with work” is

presented in Chapter XIV.

SHOOT THAT BUFFALO

Went down to Raleigh,

Never been there befo’,

White folks on the feather-bed,

Niggers on the flo’.

_Chorus_:

Shoot that buffa-,

Shoot that -lo,

Shoot that buffalo.

Went down to low groun’

To gather up my corn,

Raccoon sot the dogs on me,

’Possum blowed his horn.

Las’ year was a bad crop year,

Ev’ybody knowed it.

I didn’t make but a bushel o’ corn

An’ some damn rascal stoled it.

I had ol’ back-band,

It was made out o’ leather;

Kept me all the doggone time

Keepin’ it sewed together.

One of the bad man songs listed in Chapter IV was _Dupree_, of which

two versions were presented. The following song was sung by a young

Negro recently from the chain gang. It purports to be a song made up by

Dupree while in prison. As a matter of fact it is a composite jumble

composed largely while being sung. It illustrates well the general

situation in which any song of any sort will do just as well as any

other.

DUPREE’S JAIL SONG

I don’t want no coal-black woman for my regular,

Give me brown, Lawd, Lawd, give me brown.

Black woman study evil,

That’s why I want brown, yes, yes, give me brown.

I’m gonna roll here a few days longer,

Then I’m goin’ home, yes, then I’m goin’ home.

Don’t you hear those rein-deers cryin’?

But it ain’t gonna rain, no, no, ain’t gonna rain.

If it rain I can’t see Betty,

That’s why it ain’t gonna rain.

Every mail day I get a letter

Saying, “Daddy, come home, yes, yes, daddy, come home.”

Some of these days I’ll see Betty,

An’ it won’t be long, no, no, it won’t be long.

If I could see her just one mo’ time,

My mind would be changed all the time.

The jailer told Dupree, “Just be good,”

And he surely would, yes, yes, he surely would.

Dupree was the best man in the pen

Just to get that thing, yes, yes, that thing.

Another illustration of the common promiscuity of these current songs

adapted as a part of the physical effort of work is the following

mongrel song of the self-styled bad man who mixes metaphors and lines

to his own satisfaction.

I’M GOIN’ OUT WEST

When you see me comin’

Wid my new shine on,

’Cause I got my col’-iron burner[61]

Under my ol’ left arm.

Lawd, I goin’ out West,

Goin’ out ’mongst the robbers.

Say, if I don’t get back,

Lawd, don’t worry at all.

’Cause the Western men call theirself bad,

’Cause the Western men call theirself bad.

Say, when they get unruly,

Say, I got their water on.

Say, my gal lay down,

Lay down and cried

’Cause I’s goin’ out West,

But I’m satisfied.

Say, I grab an’ hug an’ kiss her,

Say, don’t worry at all,

’Cause I’m goin ’way from here,

Goin’ to kill some rowdy men.

I reach down an’ kiss my gal,

Kiss an’ hug her all day long,

Lawd, she make me so much worry

I had to leave home.

[61] That is, his pistol.

The selections that follow are typical of the large number of

miscellaneous songs of almost every imaginable mixture and variety.

They are examples of corruptions and also of the song-making process

and of the insignificance of words and meaning in the workaday song.

JULIA LONG

O Lawd, Aunt Julia!

Julia Long, Julia Long!

O Lawd, Aunt Julia!

Julia Long, Julia Long.

Julia Long, dead and gone,

Julia Long, Julia Long!

O Lawd, Aunt Julia!

Julia Long, Julia Long!

Julia Long I used to know,

Julia Long, Julia Long.

O Lawd, Aunt Julia!

Julia Long, Julia Long!

TURN YO’ DAMPER DOWN

When you see me comin’

Raise yo’ winder high,

When you see me leavin’

Hang yo’ head an’ cry.

I got lovin’

Way a rabbit hug a houn’,

An’ if you two-time me, daddy,

Turn yo’ damper down.

CASEY JONES[62]

Casey was goin’ about ninety-four,

An’ he forgot to blow.

Casey told the fireman he’d better jump,

For there’s two locomotives that’s about to bump.

_Chorus_:

Casey Jones, marchin’ to the cabin,

Marchin’ to the cabin with the orders in his hand.

Casey said before he died,

“Three mo’ roads I want to ride.”

The fireman ask him what could they be,

“Southern Pacific an’ the Santa Fe.”

Casey told his children,

“Go to bed and hush your cryin’,

You have another papa

On the Salt Lake Line.”

[62] _Casey Jones_ is still heard occasionally. The version given

here is somewhat below par, but represents the sort of thing a worker

is likely to sing. Note that Casey wants to ride “three mo’ roads,”

but names only two. Also, in the last stanza, Casey, instead of his

wife, is represented as speaking to the children.

WASH MY OVERHALLS

Wash my overhalls,

Search my overhalls,

Starch my overhalls,

Wash ’em clean,

’Cause I’m goin’ to ketch de train.

Listen at dis fireman blow de train.

If I don’t ring dat bell,

You ring it fer yo’self;

If you don’t ring it,

Won’t be no fault o’ mine.

DOVE CAME DOWN BY THE FOOT OF MY BED

Dove came down by the foot of my bed,

By the foot of my bed,

By the foot of my bed,

Dove came down by the foot of my bed,

And he carried the news that I was dead.

I’m going away one day before long,

One day before long,

One day before long.

I’m going away one day before long,

And I won’t be back before judgment day.

If you don’t believe I’ve been redeemed,

I’ve been redeemed,

I’ve been redeemed.

If you don’t believe I’ve been redeemed,

Just follow me down by Jordan stream.

Dig my grave and dig it deep,

Dig it deep,

Dig it deep.

Dig my grave and dig it deep,

And cover me up with a linen sheet.

Tell my mother if she wants to see me,

If she wants to see me,

If she wants to see me,

Tell my mother if she wants to see me,

She must ride that horse in the battlefield.

HE WUS DE GOV’NOR OF OUR CLAN

He wus de gov’nor of our clan,

He wus a rough-an’-tumble man,

He wus a rough-an’-tumble man.

He pull his pistol an’ a feller drap,

He make his money playin’ crap,

He make his money playin’ crap.

I GOT CHICKENS ON MY BACK

I got chickens on my back,

An’ the white folks on my track,

I am hunting for a shanty,

God knows, nobody knows.

I am hunting for a shanty,

God knows, nobody knows.

I AIN’T GONNA LET NOBODY MAKE A FOOL OUT O’ ME

I’ve been all over the U. S. A.,

I’ve seen most everything;

I’ve shot craps with the president,

Played cards with the queen and king.

But I ain’t gonna let nobody,

Nobody make a fool out o’ me.

If you give your gal everything she needs,

You will spend the winter in your B. V. D.’S.

I ain’t gonna let nobody,

Nobody make a fool out o’ me.

ON MY LAS’ GO-’ROUND[63]

I had it in my head to join the U. S. A.,

But instead of gettin’ better I got still worse.

Every time I hear some church bell ringin’,

I begin to think I was on my las’ go-’round.

O I believe I am on, I think I am on,

I know I am on my las’ go-’round.

So when I am dead, wear no black,

When Gable blows his trumpet I’ll rush on back.

[63] There are now popular songs entitled _Last Go-’Round Blues_ and

_I’m on My Last Go-’Round_, but they do not resemble this song. For

an older version, see _The Negro and His Songs_, p. 180.

BERDA, YOU COME TOO SOON

O Lord, Berda, you come too soon,

Found a man in my saloon.

Berda walked out screamin’ an cryin’,

Girls on front street skippin’ an’ flyin’.

Berda, you come too soon,

Berda, you come too soon.

RAIN OR SHINE

I hoes an’ I plows

In all kinds o’ weather,

I got to keep a-goin’

’Cause I can’t do no better.

Rain or shine,

Sleet or snow,

When I gits done dis time,

Won’t work no mo’.

Empty or full,

Sleep or ’wake,

I’m gwine to de party,

Dance fer dat cake.

WHO’S GOIN’ TO BUY YOUR WHISKEY?

Who’s goin’ to buy your whiskey

When I’m gone away from you?

Who’s goin’ to do your holdin’

When I’m gone from you, Lawd, Lawd?

Who’s goin’ to bring you chicken

From the white folks’ house

When I’m gone away from you?

YOU CALLS ME IN DE MORNIN’

You me in de mornin’,

You calls me in de night,

An’ you is de cause o’ me

Losin’ my life.

My home ain’t here, I don’t have to stay.

When I leaves don’t wear no black,

Do, I sho’ gonna come creepin’ back,

Do, I sho’ gonna come creepin’ back.

DIG-A MY GRAVE WID A SILVER SPADE

Dig-a my grave wid a silver spade,

Let me down wid a golden chain.

Oh, who’s gonna dig-a my grave?

Let me down wid a golden chain.

Yonder come mudder,

Look lak mudder comin’ on.

Oh, who’s gonna dig-a my grave?

YONDER COME DE DEVIL

Yonder come de devil,

Yonder come de devil,

Ketch him, devil, ketch him,

Ketch him, devil, ketch him.

He done sin, he done sin,

He done sin, he done sin.

Ketch him, devil, ketch him,

Ketch him, devil, ketch him.

DEM TURRIBLE RED HOT BLUES[64]

Nothin’ new,

Her name wuz Sue,

I got de turrible

Red hot blues,

Oh, dem turrible red hot blues.

I got a pal,

This gal is Sal,

Bofe got de turrible red hot blues,

Oh, dem turrible red hot blues.

[64] Compare _Red Hot Blues_, a popular phonograph and sheet music

piece.

DAS ’NOUGH SAID

Hit rains, hit hails,

Different sorts o’ wedder,

Hit rains, hit hails,

Wusser de better.

Steal up to de back do’

Den on to de bed,

Lawsy, lawsy, mister,

Das ’nough said.

DIAMOND JOE

Diamond Joe wants a sack of flour,

Diamond Joe wants a sack of flour,

Diamond Joe he don’t work by de hour.

Drive on, Diamond Joe.

Sometimes he works in de country,

Sometimes he works in de town,

Sometimes he has a good notion

To jump in de river an’ drown.

Drive on, Diamond Joe.

HE RUN ME IN

Talkin’ ’bout yo’ ghosts, let me tell:

I thought I drapped dat nigger in dat well

But he run me in, yes, Lawd, he run me in.

’Tain’t no fun I’s here to tell

When a dead nigger gits out’n an ol’ fiel’ well

An’ runs me in, yes, Lawd, he run me in.

He ain’t got no arms, he ain’t got no haid,

I didn’t stop an’ count dem tracks I made,

’Cause he run me in, yes, Lawd, he run me in.

I believes in a ghost an’ I believes in a hant

Dis here nigger sho’ ain’t no saint,

’Cause he run me in, yes, Lawd, he run me in.

DE GOAT’S GOT A SMELL

De goat’s got a smell,

De skunk’s got a stink,

But de black gal

Got a ’culiar odor.

De black gal, de balmoral,

Dey bofe got a ’culiar odor.

GOODBY SOOKIE

Goodby, Sookie, good by, Sal,

You struts about in dat balmoral.

Goodby, Sookie, good by, Sal

I’s leavin’ dis hot town wid dat yallow gal.

OUT IN DE CABIN

Out in de cabin, banjo pickin’ low;

Out in de cabin, banjo pickin’ low.

Up in de big house, singin’ soft an’ low;

Up in de big house dancin’ to an’ fro.

I lubs my missus, I lubs ol’ marse;

I lubs my white folks mo’ an’ mo’,

Mo’ an’ mo’.

DARLIN’ GET ON DE ROAD

Darlin’, when you see me comin’,

Hang your head an’ cry.

When you see me leavin’,

Get on the road.

Darlin’, get on the road,

Darlin’, get on the road.

When you see me cryin’,

Hang you head in shame.

When you see me smilin’,

You know I am the same.

So let us get on the road,

Darlin’, get on the road.

I’M GONNA HAVE ME A RED BALL ALL MY OWN

Lawd, lissen, I believe I go to town

An’ ketch the Red Ball.[65]

An’ I walked up to get in.

What you reckin’ the man said to me?

“No nigger can ride the Red Ball.”

So I turned around an’ went back home

An’ began to paint my face.

But I forgot to paint my neck an’ hands.

So I went back an’ tried him again.

Didn’t have no luck. An’ I’m

Gonna get me a mule an’ name him Red Ball,

An’ I can ride just the same.

I’m gonna have me a Red Ball all my own.

[65] A fast freight train.

GREAT SCOTS, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO

Bull frog sittin’ on mantel-piece,

Great scots, you don’t know what to do,

Clapped his hand in a pan of grease,

Great scots, you don’t know what to do.

I’m going down in new town to live.

Look out, ladies, let him by,

You don’t know what to do,

Here he comes with a greasy eye,

Great scots, you don’t know what to do.

I’m going down in new town to live.

CHICKEN NEVER ROOST TOO HIGH FO’ ME[66]

Ol’ massa’s chicken

Live in the tree,

Chicken never roost

Too high fo’ me.

Went out strollin’,

See what I can see.

Chicken never roost

Too high fo’ me.

Ever since the Yankee

Set-er me free,

Chicken never roost

Too high fo’ me.

They think the old lady

An’ me agree.

Chicken never roost

Too high fo’ me.

I’s in jail,

Not long till I’m free,

Chicken never roost

Too high fo’ me.

[66] In a somewhat different version, this song was popular as a

minstrel some twenty years ago.

STEWBALL WAS A RACER[67]

Stewball was a racer,

Mollie was too.

My mist’iss bets by hundred,

My master bets by thousands.

I bet you mo’ cash money

Ol’ Stewball won.

Run on, ol’ Stewball,

Mollie done run.

[67] This is a fragment of a song, _Skewball_, which used to be

almost an epic among the Negroes. Its origin probably goes back to an

old Irish song. For a discussion of this point, see Scarborough, _On

the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs_, pp. 61-4.

SHANGHAI ROOSTER

Shanghai rooster done lost all his feathers,

Shanghai pullet eat by her betters.

You gits de gizzard, I eats the breast,

Got to save the preacher all the rest.

Chicken wid a preacher don’t stand no show,

When the preacher is about chicken gotta go.

Went over to fishin’ on a little stream,

All I got is a nod and dream.

Catch Miss Catfish by the snout,

Led Miss Catfish all about.