The reason why I don't work so hard,
I got a gal in the white folks' yard;
And every night about half past eight,
I steps in through the white man's gate;
And she brings the butter, and the bread, and the lard;
That's the reason why I don't work so hard.
The next I have termed the "Skinner's Song." Skinner is the vernacular for
teamster. The negro seldom carries a watch, but still uses the sun as a
chronometer; a watch perhaps would be too suggestive of regularity.
Picture to yourself several negroes working on a levee as teamsters. About
five o'clock you would hear this:
I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt high;
I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye;
And he wunk his eye, and he wunk his eye,
I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye.
I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt red;
I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head;
And he turned his head, and he turned his head,
I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head.
The negro occasionally practices introspection. When he does, you are
likely to hear something like this:
White folks are all time bragging,
Lord, Lord, Lord,
'Bout a nigger ain't nothing but waggin,
Lord, Lord, Lord.
Or,
White folks goes to college; niggers to the field;
White folks learn to read and write; niggers learn to steal.
Or,
Beauty's skin deep, but ugly's to the bone.
Beauty soon fades, but ugly holds its own.
The following is the only song in which I think I detect insincerity. Now
the negro may have periods of despondency, but I have never been able to
detect them.