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Full text of "The American Songbag"

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THE AMERICAN SONGBAG 



By Carl Sandburg 

Biography 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

Poems 

SMOKE AND STEEL 

SLABS OF TIIK SUNBURNT WEST 

CHICAGO POKMH 

CORN HUSKERS 

For Young People 
ROOTABAC A STORI ES 
KOOTAHAOA 1'KIEONS 
THE I'EOl'LE, YKS 



The 

AMERICAN 
SONGBAG 



CARL SANDBURG 




New York 
HARCOURT, BRACE & COMPANY 



roPvmoiiT, 1997, 11 Y 

RAlK'OrHT, HH \CK AND COMIMVY, INO 



This book is complete and unabridged. 
If /r manufactured under wartime con- 
dilions in conformity uilh all govern- 
ment regulations controlling the UM- of 
paper and other materials. 



Dedicated 

TO THOSE UNKNOWN SINGERS WHO MADE SONGS 

OUT OF LOVE, FUN, GRIEF AND TO THOSE MANY 

OTHER SINGERS WHO KEPT THOSE SONGS AS LIVING 

THINGS OF THE HEART AND MIND OUT OF LOVE, 

FUN, GRIEF 



INTRODUCTION 

The American Songbag is a ragbag of strips, stripes, and streaks of color from nearly all ends of 
the earth. The melodies and verses presented here are from diverse regions, from varied human 
characters and communities, and each is sung differently in different places. 

The song history of America, when some day it gets written, will accomplish two things. It 
will give the feel and atmosphere, the layout and lingo, of regions, of breeds of men, of customs and 
slogans, in a manner and air not given in regular history, to be read and not sung. And besides, 
such a history would require that the student sing his way through most of the chapters. 

If and when such history is written it will help some on the point registered by a Yankee phi- 
losopher that there are persons born and reared in this country who culturally have not yet come 
over from Europe. The chronicle would include that quaint commentary from the Rio Grande, 
"In Mexico nobody knows how to sing and everybody sings!" It would deal with minor inci- 
dents, vivid and hilarious. For instance, musical Chicago a few years ago looked with keen interest 
on a lawsuit. Two composers were each claiming to be the first and only music writer to score the 
Livery Stable Blues. On the witness stand the plaintiff testified that one evening, long before jazz 
had become either a vogue or an epidemic, his orchestra was playing in a cabaret, "and a lady 
dancer started doing some fancy steps, and I picks up a cornet and lets go a few pony neighs at her. 
The trombone come through with a few horse laughs. TUen the banjos, cowbells, and sax puts in 
a lot of 'terplitations of their own. And that was the first time the Livery Stable Blues was played." 

Thus musical history in America already has its traditions and controversies. The origin of 
jazz is still in a fog of wordy disputation. The years to come will see plenty of argument on other 
moot matters. 

There is presented herein a collection of 280 songs, ballads, ditties, brought together from all 
regions of America. The music includes not merely airs and melodies, but complete harmoniza- 
tions or piano accompaniments. It is an All-American affair, marshaling the genius of thousands 
of original singing Americans. 

The book begins with a series of Dramas and Portraits, rich with the human diversity of the 
United States. There are Tarnished Love Tales Told in Song, or Colonial and Revolutionary 
Antiques; some of them have the feel of black walnut, of knickerbockers, silver shoe-buckles, and 
the earliest colonial civilization. Out of the section of Pioneer Memories, one may sing with the 
human waves that swept across the Alleghanies and settled the Middle West, later taking the 
Great Plains, the Rocky Mountains, the west coast. That notable distinctive American institu- 
tion, the black-face minstrel, stands forth in a separate section. There are groups of railroad, 
hobo, work-gang, steamboat songs. Seven Mexican border songs give the breath of the people 
above and below the Rio Grande. Tunes and verses are given from the camps of lumberjacks, 
loggers, and shanty-boys. One section contains ballads chiefly from the southern mountains. One 
called Kentucky Blazing Star has the largest assemblage of interesting Kentucky ballads and songs 
that has been put between the covers of any book. Two powerful Great Lakes songs are given, 
"Bigerlow" and "Red Iron Ore," either of which may yet rival the song of the Volga boatmen. 
One section is titled Picnic and Hayrack Follies, Close Harmony, and Darn Fool Ditties. The 
quaver of rare Irish lilts, emigrants to the States, is in The Ould Sod. A little series of exquisite 
musical fragments, light as gossamer mist, are grouped under the title, Lovely People. The book 
closes with a list of spirituals called The Road to Heaven. 

Probably 100 pieces, strictly folk songs, have never been published; they have been gathered 
by the compiler and his friends from coast to coast and from the Gulf to Canada. First of all, 

vii 



INTRODUCTION 

this is a book of singable songs. It is for the library, but it belongs in the music corner of the library, 
or on the piano, or on the back porch, or at the summer cottage, or at the camp, or wherever people 
sing songs and want new songs to sing. 

There is a human stir throughout the book with the heights and depths to be found in Shake- 
speare. A wide human procession marches through these pages. The rich and the poor; robbers, 
murderers, hangmen; fathers and wild boys; mothers with soft words for their babies; workmen on 
railroads, steamboats, ships; wanderers and lovers of homes, tell what life has done to them. Love 
and hate in many patterns and designs, heart cries of high and low pitch, are in these verses and 
tunes. There are low-keyed lyrics, brief as the life of a rose; there are biographies of voyagers 
that epitomize long novels and thick log-books. 

This is precisely the sort of material out of which there may come the great native American 
grand opera. It is so intensely and vitally American that some who have seen the book have sug- 
gested that it should be collateral material with the study of history and geography in schools, 
colleges, and universities; the pupils or students might &ing their answers at examination time. 

"A big bandana bundle of bully ballads for big boys and their best girls," was the comment 
of one who read the Table of Contents. Look at its program. Its human turmoil is terrific. Blas- 
phemies from low life and blessings from high life for baritone or soprano are brought together. 
Puppets wriggle from their yesterdays and testify. Curses, prayers, jigs and jokes, mix here out 
of the blue mist of the past. It is a volume full of gargoyles and gnomes, a terribly tragic book 
and one grinnirigly comic; each page lifts its own mask. It is as ancient as the medieval European 
ballads brought to the Appalachian Mountains; it is as modern as skyscrapers, the Volstead Act, 
and the latest oil-well gusher. Though meant to be sung, it can be read and is a glorious anthology 
of the songs that men have sung in the making of America. 

History, we may repeat, runs through this book. Yet it is first of all, we say again, a song- 
book to be sung rather than read. Music and the human voice command this parade of melodies 
and lyrics. They speak, murmur, cry, yell, laugh, pray; they take roles; they play parts; in topics, 
scenes, and "props" they range into anthropology, houses, machines, ships, railroad trains, churches, 
saloons, picnics, hayrack and steamboat parties, and human strugglers chanting farewell to the frail 
frameworks of earthly glory. There is patter and jabber of vulgarity, there are falsetto mockers 
and groaning blasphemies, there is moaning of prayers and tumult and shouting of faiths. 

Honest workingmen and hardened criminals sing their lives; beloved vagabonds and miserable 
miscreants are here; pretty babies and tired mothers, bad boys and anxious fathers, people who 
are fat, rollicking and gay along with restless and desperate men and women; they stand forth 
here and in bright ballads or melancholy melodies tell what life has done to them. 

The American Songbag comes from the hearts and voices of thousands of men and women. 
They made new songs, they changed old songs, they carried songs from place to place, they resur- 
rected and kept alive dying and forgotten songs. 

Ballad singers of centuries ago and mule-skinners alive and singing today helped make this 
book. Pioneers, pick and shovel men, teamsters, mountaineers, and people often called ignorant 
have their hands and voices in this book, along with minstrels, sophisticates, and trained musicians. 
People of lonesome hills and valleys are joined with "the city slicker," in the panorama of its pages. 

The American scene and pageant envisioned by one American singer and touched off in one 
of his passages is measurably vocal here. "Forever alive, forever forward they go, they go, I 
know not where they go, but I know that they go toward the best, toward something greato" 

viii 



PREFATORY NOTES 

The airs and verses, tunes and words, on the pages herewith, are most of them intended to be 
sung. A minor portion of them are enduring poems of lyric or narrative value; they are. worth 
reading for the reading's sake, as one communes with books worth while. Yet even with such 
poems there is an added lighting or tincture given them if the air is hummed or the poem sung 
to an accompaniment. 

A few of the ballads and ditties are too long to be sung, from the first to the last verse, more 
than once a year. Only by singing, however, will some of the airs and verses open up their best 
slants and glimpses. ' 

If you like a particular air and would rather sing it in a way you have found or developed your- 
self, departing from the musical expressions indicated, making such changes as please you at any 
given moment, you have full authority to do so. We quote an able singer's comment, "Many 
a modern song the interpreter looks at with a shudder. Riddled with expression marks and even 
breathing marks, hedged in with arbitrary directions, radiating polyglot colloquialisms, it looks 
like a barbed-wire entanglement. Singer and accompanist smile at one another, study the song 
as a whole, and sing it their own way." 

Some of our songs are sublime; some are silly. Some tell of lovable eyes and hearts, others tell 
of crimes learned of in grand opera or read about in daily newspapers or in the classics of liter- 
ature. They deal with a panorama of events and people, substance and shadow, paunches and 
fleshpots, as well as filaments of sunset mist. They have roles. 

Often a song is a role. The singer acts a part. lie or she is a story-teller of a piece of action. 
Characters or atmosphere are to be delivered. . . . No two artists deliver a role in the same way. 
Yet all good artists study a song and live with it before performing it. ... There is something 
authentic about any person's way of giving a song which has been known, lived with and loved, 
for many years, by the singer. 

Perhaps I should explain that for a number of years I have gone hither and yon over the United 
States meeting audiences to whom I talked about poetry and art, read my verses, and closed a 
program with a half- or quarter-hour of songs, giving verbal footnotes with each song. These 
itineraries have included now about two-thirds of the state universities of the country, audiences 
ranging from 3,000 people at the University of California to 30 at the Garret Club in Buffalo, 
New York, and organizations us diverse as the Poetry Society of South Carolina and the Knife 
and Fork Club of South Bend, Indiana. The songs I gave often reminded listeners of songs of a 
kindred character they knew entirely or in fragments; or they would refer me to persons who had 
similar ballads or ditties. 

In the arranging of a song I would usually sing it for the composer and bring out my note- 
book sketch, a rough affair rapidly penciled and as a document looking rather like a "shivaree" 
than a quiet wedding. The composer and I usually collaborated on the main design or outline of 
the harmonization or accompaniment. From then on the work was entirely that of the composer, 
except in a number of instances when I suggested a different mood, atmosphere or rhythm to meet 
the requirements of the song as I had customarily heard it. The words "arranger" (abbreviated 
as Arr.) and "arrangement" are generally employed throughout the book. The musical setting 
of a song is occasionally an elaborate and accomplished harmonization. Most often, however, the 

ix 



PREFATORY NOTES 

"arrangement" is a simple accompaniment. (If time and circumstance had permitted there would 
have been included a number of guitar, accordion, and harmonica accompaniments for the port- 
able instruments.) 

Special acknowledgments are made to Alfred G. Wathall, to Thorvald Otterstrtfm, to Leo 
Sowerby, and to Hazel Felman for musical settings, for counsel and guidance at points where their 
technical skill and musical experience was requested. 

Alfred G. Wathall wrote the major number of harmonizations; he had the gift of versatility 
requisite for the treatment of such a varied character of songs. His moods of work and methods 
of approach have a generous gamut. The ways of his heart and head range from the playboy 
who pranks as he pleases, who follows the gleam of the whim of the moment whether he happens 
to have the wishing heart of an innocent child or the tumultuous thoughts of a stranger lost in the 
solitude of the packed traffic on a big city street. More important yet, Wathall is the cunning 
technician familiar with all the classics, exercising a gift of showmanship in behalf of a humanity 
that he loves with laughter and tears. He knows what is verandah and what is ashcan in the realm 
of music and can mingle them with effective contrast. His "Music Box" and "Arabian Nights" 
creations for WGN, the Chicago Tribune radio station, for which he is the master arranger, have 
had a remarkably widespread and enthusiastic audience. His "Sultan of Sulu" music was the work 
of a nineteen-year-old genius. The touch of genius, too, goes for his forty-minute musical setting 
of that trifling tale from Rootabaga Stories, a piece of puppetry called "The Romance of the Rag 
Doll and the Brooin Handle"; as the announcer reads the story there are accompaniments and 
interspersals of music from a chamber-music orchestra. 

Leo Sowerby was twenty-one years old when a Chicago orchestra produced a concerto for 
'cello by him entitled "The Irish Washerwoman." He took a favorite folk piece of American 
country fiddlers, a famous tune of the pioneers, and made an interesting experiment and a daring 
adventure with it. He was a bandmaster during the World War. Then later he is found doing a 
happy-go-lucky arrangement for Paul Whiteman's orchestra; it may be an exploit in "jazz" or pos- 
sibly a construction in "the new music." One definite thing about Sowerby is his ownership of 
himself, his acceptance of hazards. He is as ready for pioneering and for originality as the new 
century of which he is a part. One other definite thing is that he does not prize seclusion to the 
point where he is out of touch with the People. Not "the peepul" of the politicians, nor the cus- 
tomers of Tin Pan Alley, but rather The Folks, the common human stream that has counted im- 
mensely in the history of music. We reckon it a privilege that Sowerby could undertake the musical 
settings for sixteen of our songs. 

Thorvald Otterstrorn is a compound of toil, technical knowledge, and genius. I cannot enu- 
merate nor set forth here anything like an outline of the ideas and projects that animate him. He 
is encyclopedic in scope of knowledge. I cannot mention nor discuss intelligently one of his manu- 
scripts, a scientific treatise of technical phases of music; his writings have to be wrestled with and 
are tough as mathematics. And his compositions of music have specimens that are yet to be written 
about, both simply and intricately, as work that has come from a temperament of fire and a hand 
possessive of master strokes. 

Hazel Felman (Mrs. Jacob R. Buchbinder) has rare adaptability of mood and technic, has ver- 
satility, and has ranged widely as evidenced in her song air and musical setting of Rudyard Kipling's 
"Boots/* made known to a wide audience through the singing of Reinald Werrenrath, and later 



PREFATORY NOTES 

a fantastic "March of the Zizzies," based on a breed of small people who make all things zigzag, 
as told in the affidavits of Rootabaga Stories. She is adaptive, pictorial, imaginative. 

We could write a considerable little book about the ways of our composers, the contralto of 
Elizabeth Carpenter Marshall crooning her airs to the verses of Dorothy K. Aldis; she is as obedient 
to her inner voices as her uncle, John Alden Carpenter. We could mention the unmistakable genius 
of Henry Joslyn and the fighting stride of some of his cacophonic speculations as played by Sto- 
kowski's orchestra on the one hand and Whiteman's on the other. 

The versatile Rupert Hughes, writer of novels and short stories, director of photoplays, biog- 
rapher of musicians, biographer of George Washington, and author of remarkably free and inde- 
pendent essays and inquiries into human credulity, is a composer of music which the house of 
Sch inner has published. The latter folios include airs and musical settings of three pieces from 
Chicago Poems and Cornhnskers. It was natural when I met Hughes in his Southern California 
home that I should show him the Mexican songs that needed harmonizations for our fiesta. 

R. W. Gordon placed at our disposal the resources of his immense collection of old songs that 
men have sung. His fellowship at Harvard University, his editorship of the Adventure Magazine 
department, "Old Songs That Men Have Sung," and his extended series of articles on American 
folk songs in the New York Times, resulted in his being in touch with a force of contributors and 
correspondents numbered at upwards of 2,700. His travels from coast to coast, his meanderings 
in a motor car through the southern states, always seeking old songs or characteristic and sig- 
nificant songs, brought about a collection that is without doubt the largest assemblage of folk- 
song material ever gathered by any one person. On close acquaintance with the thorough char- 
acter of his service, his intense devotion and anxious concentration in one chosen area of effort, 
the extent of the data gathered, one realizes that Gordon's work is monumental. 

Harry M. Gilbert, half a New Yorker and half a Paducah KenLuckian, was an adviser on points 
in music, texts, and general drift of the book. Besides his classical training, his musical association 
with Jess Ricks, the Long Island fiddler, was of advantage in scrutiny of folk songs. Alfred Frank- 
enstein, author of the book Syncopating Saxophones and other kit-kats in musical criticism, was an 
interested counselor from the start. 

Alexander Hannah of Pasadena, California, Oliver R. Barrett of Chicago, William II. Richard- 
son of Jersey City, New Jersey, and Dr. Ernest Horn of the College of Education of the University 
of Iowa, gave the use of scarce books on old minstrel and pioneer songs. 

Our illustrations are chiefly from songsters and broadsides of 1840 and 1850. A few are from 
the Family Magazine and Harper's New Monthly Magazine of that period. William Gropper is 
the contributor of four or five skits pertinent to his style and modernist viewpoint. Hans Stengel 
furnished the silhouette of the author singing and driving a one-horse milk wagon. Diego Rivera 
of Mexican Folkways did the line drawing with his initials on it. 

Thanks are due that sterling Brooklyn citizen, W. W. Delaney, who for twenty-two years 
published twice a year a ten-cent sorigbook containing the words of about 160 songs in each number. 
He looked and spoke as the friendliest of men, rich with memories of popular songs, song writers, 
"pluggers" and publishers. His advice to me, as I wrote it in a note-book riding the subway, was: 
"You got to get it through your nut there's only a limited amount of people know how to sing 
those old songs. Take those songs of fifty years ago who knows how to sing them? who cares 
about them? The people you're catering to have never heard of them. That's a point you've got 
to look to." 

xi 



PREFATORY NOTES 
DIALECT 

Dialects in the United States are many and various. The southern states have several; the 
daily speech and the common idioms of South Carolina, Alabama, and Texas, have differences. 
The lingo of mountaineers is not the same in all Appalachian regions. The cowboy and the sheep- 
herder are as far apart in ways of talk as a Chicago newsboy and a Santa Fe brakeman running 
out of Albuquerque. In putting dialects into print, an author has to consider how it may help 
those who are to read or sing it. If you know a dialect and have heard it from living people you 
will not need much help from the butcheries of words, the cleavages, elisions, and apostrophes 
required for an accurate phonetic record. And those who have not heard a certain dialed;, who 
must get acquainted with it and learn to pronounce it from the printed page, may stumble on 
difficulties. The word "the" in different cases, according to the way it is spoken, would be indi- 
cated as (1) the, (2) de, (3) thuh, (4) th', (5) t', (6) d', (7) duh. Or the word "here" would be 
indicated as (1) here, (2) hyer, (3) hyeah, (4) hyar, (5) hyah, (6) yere, (7) hceyah. Four kinds 
of the word "the" are in the negro sentence, "7" fust ting he knowed thuh p'lice had him an* de 
wagon come aroun* duh cornah." Three kinds of the word "here" are in the mountaineer sen- 
tence, "Ilyeah comes dis yere Bill Brown up dat hyar road." Following are two ways of writing 
a verse of a South Carolina spiritual, one in dialect, the other not: 

Stab in de eas', stall in de wes', Star in the east, star in the west, 

Wish dat stah wuz in mail breas', Wish that star was in my breast, 

Chu'eh Ah know yuh gonna miss me w'en Ahm gawn. Church, I know you're going to miss me when I'm 

Wen Ahm gawn, gawn, gawn, gone. 

W'en Ahm gawn to come no mo', When I'm gone, gone, gone, 

Chu'ch, Ah know ynh gonna miss me w'en Ahm gawn. When I'm gone to come no more, 

Church, I know you're going to miss me when I'm 
gone. 

AN AMERICAN BOOKSIIKLF OF SONG 

An interesting list of books to go on an American Bookshelf of Song could be named. It would 
include such volumes in recent years as Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads (Macmillan & 
Co.), by John A. Lomax; American Songs and Ballads (Charles Scribner's Sons), by Louise A. 
Pound; American-English Folk-Songs Collected in the Southern Appalachians (G. Schirrner), by Cecil 
J. Sharp; Folk-Songs of the South (Harvard University Press,) edited by John Harrington Cox; 
Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (Harvard University Press), by Franz Rickaby; On the Trail , 
of Negro Folk Songs (Harvard University Press, by Dorothy Scarborough; The Flying Cloud, pub- 
lished by the compiler, M. C. Dean, Virginia, Minnesota; Frontier Ballads: Songs from Lawless 
Lands (Doubleday, Page & Co.), by Charles J. Finger; The Book of Navy Songs (Doubleday, Page 
& Co.), collected by The Trident Literary Society of the United States Naval Academy and arranged 
by Joseph W. Crosley; Singing Soldiers (Scribner's), by John J. Niles; Negro Workaday Songs (Uni- 
versity of North Carolina Press), by Howard W. Odum and Guy B. Johnson; Mellows: Work Songs, 
Street Cries, and Spirituals (A. & C. Boni), by R. Emmet Kennedy; Roll and Go: Songs of American 
Sailormen (The Bobbs-Merrill Company), by Joanna Colcord; The Land of Poco Tiempo (Scrib- 
ner's), by Charles Luminis; Blues (A. & C. Boni), by W. C. Handy, with introduction by Abbe 
Niles; Texas and Southwestern Love (Number VI of Publications of the Texas Folk Lore Society), 
edited by J. Frank Dobie. 

xii 



PREFATORY NOTES 

Files of the Journal of the American Folk Lore Society, and such freshly original publications 
as those of the Texas Folk Lore Society, contain considerable folk-song material, much of it price- 
less. Besides her volume, The American Indians and Their Music (The Womans Press), Frances 
Densmore has presented a superb array of studies of the Red Man as a singer in her volumes pub- 
lished by the Bureau of Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution; the songs in this field require an ex- 
ceptional practice and technic. The literature on the negro spiritual and its songbooks has steadily 
grown and is well itemized in The Negro Year Book. For a gallantly bantering treatment of Amer- 
ican song during the past century and a half, with merriment over the changing fads, fashions, 
foibles, and formulas of commercialized song, Sigmund Spaeth's volume, Read 9 Em and Weep 
(Doubleday, Page & Co.)> is worth having. 

TOO LATE TO CLASSIFY 

While our book was nearly ready for press, and prefatory notes about finished, I rambled 
through 1,300 pages of The Unirersal Songster, published in London 1826-28, and found there a 
piece which should have been included in our folio of songs known among the Lincolns and Hankses. 
Dennis Hanks, a cousin of Abraham Lincoln, when queried by W. H. Herndon as to what songs 
were known to their families in southern Indiana in the 18 c 20's, mentioned one about "The tur- 
ban'd Turk, who scorns the world and struts about with his whiskers curled." The first time I 
met the words of this song was in the above-named book, where its title and text appear as follows: 

None Can Love Like an Irishman 
(Collins) 

The turban'd Turk, who scorns the world, 
May strut about with his whiskers curled, 
Keep a hundred wives under lock arid key, 
For nobody else but himself to see; 
Yet long may he pray with his Alcoran 
Before he can love like an Irishman. 

The gay Monsieur, a slave no more, 
The solemn Don, the soft Signor, 
The Dutch Mynheer, so full of pride, 
The Russian, Prussian, Swede beside 
They all may do whatever they can, 
But they'll never love like an Irishman. 

The London folks themselves beguile, 
And think they please in a capital style; 
Yet let them ask, as they cross the street, 
Of any young virgin they happen to meet, 
And I know she'll say, from behind her fan, 
That there's none can love like an Irishman. 

By what ways this ditty, or lines of it, traveled to southern Indiana and was popular in corn- 
fields and at cross-roads, we may leave to later investigation. It is evidence that metropolitan 
songs may take long migrations. 

Also we add here another verse of the song "I Met Her in the Garden Where the Praties Grow" 
in the folio The Quid Sod. It goes 

xiii 



PREFATORY NOTES 

And now that we arc married 

And we're blessed with children three, 
Two girls just like their mother 

And the boy the image of me 
We'll raise them up so neatly 

In the way they ought to go 
So they'll not forget the garden 

Where the praties grow. 

Strictly, we have a book that is unfinished, that has oddments and remainders, that has tatters 
and remnants, elsewhere and far away in many ports and valleys. 



XIV 



DATA CONCERNING THE COMPOSERS AND WRITERS OF MUSICAL 
SETTINGS, HARMONIZATIONS, AND ACCOMPANIMENTS 



COLLINS, EDWARD Pianist, composer, Chicago. 
Born, Joliet, 111. Studied piano with a sister, later 
with Rudolph Ganz. Studied composition under En- 
gelhert Humpcrdinck and others at Royal Academy, 
Berlin. Toured the United States with Ernestine 
Schumann-Heink, 1912-13. Assistant conductor, 
Century Opera Company, New York, 1913-14; 
Wagner festival, Bayreuth, 1914. Has appeared as 
piano soloist and guest conductor with Chicago and 
St. Louis Symphony Orchestras. Has composed 
many works for piano and for orchestra. Member of 
faculty, Chicago Musical College. 

CRAWFORD, RUTH PORTER Composer, Chicago. 
Born, East Liverpool, Ohio. Studied pinuo under 
Vallborg Collett, Jacksonville, Fla., Bertha Foster, 
Miami, Louise Robyn and Djane Lavoie-Herz, Chi- 
cago. Studied theory under Adolph Weidig, Chicago. 
Member of faculty, American Conservatory, Chicago. 
Composer of violin sonata, suite for small orchestra, 
suite for wind instruments and piano, "Tom Thumb'* 
suite for piano solo, songs, preludes for piano. Mem- 
ber, board of directors, Pro Musica Society, Chicago, 
non-resident advisory board, New Music Society of 
California, Sigma Alpha Iota. 

EDSON, CHARLES FARWELL Bass, Chicago. Born, 
San Francisco. Studied under Frederick Buck, Ella 
G. Richards, L. G. Gottschalk, and others. D6but, 
Los Angeles, with Los Angeles opera. Sang with 
Ferris Ilartman Opera Company. Conducts private 
vocal studio in Chicago. Has also appeared as .actor. 
Composer of songs. Member, Gamut Club, Los 
Angeles, Society of Amerieau Musicians. 

FAWWELL, ARTHUR Composer. Born, St. Paul, 
Minn. Studied engineering at Massachusetts Insti- 
tute of Technology. Studied music under Homer 
Norris in Boston, Eiigelbert Humperdinek and Hans 
Pfitzner, in Germany, and Alexandre Guilmant in 
Paris. Member of faculty, Cornell University, 1899- 
1901. Established Wa-Wan Press, publishing native 
American works, 1901, continuing publication to 1908. 
Correspondent, Musical America, 1909-15. Has 
taught at Settlement Music School, New York, and 
at University of California. Has made extensive 
studies of American folk music. Composer of many 
works on folk themes American Indian Melodies, 
Folk Songs of West and Sonth, From Mesa and J*lain, 
etc., all for piano solo, and music for pageants and 
plays. Founder and director, Theater of the Stars, 
Big Bear Lake. 



PELMAN, HAZEL (Mrs. J. R. Buchbinder) Com- 
poser, Chicago. Born, Joliet, Illinois. Studied under 
Thorvald Otterstrdm. Numerous songs, including set- 
ting of Kipling's "Boots." Concerto for piano and 
orchestra. "Legend" for violin and piano. "March 
of the Zizzies." Residence, 1137 E. 50th St., Chicago, 
Illinois. 

GILBERT, HARRY M. Organist, pianist, New York. 
Born, Paducah, Ky. Studied under Alberto Jon&s, 
Hans Pfitzner, Max Landow, and others, in New York 
and Berlin. Organist and choir director, Fifth Avenue 
Presbyterian Church, New York. Conductor, Society 
of American Singers and Gilbert Singers. Director, 
Evercady Hour. Has appeared as soloist on tour with 
David Bispham, Maud Powell, Pablo Casals, Geral- 
dine Farrar, and others. Composer of songs, piano 
pieces, and church music. 

GOODMAN, LILLIAN ROSEDALE (Mrs. Mark Good- 
man) Born, Mitchell, S. D. Graduate Institute of 
Musical Art, New York. Studied in Europe under 
Buzzi-Peccia. Singer with Coit-Alber Chautauqua 
bureau ; in duo program at French theater, New York; 
under Shubert direction in Hello Alexander and lied 
Pepper,- headliner in vaudeville concert program; com- 
poser of many songs, including Cherie I Love You, 
My Heart is Sad, Love's Like the Robin, Mammy's 
Precious Pickaninny, I Found You, If I Could Look 
Into Your Eyes. Head of musical booking bureau, 
Capital Building, Chicago, 111. 

JOSLYN, HENRY Composer, violinist, conductor, 
New York City. Born, Elmira, New York. Sym- 
phonic suite, "Native Moments," produced by Sto- 
kowski and Philadelphia Orchestra; Ganz and St. 
Louis Symphony Orchestra; Stock and Chicago 
Symphony Orchestra; Nathaniel Finston and Sunday 
Symphony Concerts, Chicago Theatre (premiere). 
Symphonic silhouette, "American Sky Lines," pro- 
duced by Paul Whiteman's orchestra, the composer 
conducting. Other compositions : three symphonies-^ 
"War," "Pythagoras," "The Symphony of the Low- 
Downs"; "Red White and Blues" Symphony (for 
Paul Whiteman); symphonic odes "Eulogy," "Joy," 
"The Day of Days"; symphonic suites "The Seven 
Ages of Man," "The Melting Pot," "Symphony 
Miniature," "Mitchie-Gaunee," "Fairy Tales"; 
tone-poems "Down Wind," "Prairie," "Chicago"; 
concertos for piano, violin, 'cello, viola (for Louis 
Bailly); string quartet in C Minor; string pieces 
"Elation," "Once Upon a Time," "Tryst." 



xv 



DATA CONCERNING THE COMPOSERS AND WRITERS OF MUSICAL SETTINGS 



KENNEDY, R. EMMET Author, pianist. Born, 
Gretna, Louisiana. Author of three books of sketches 
with negro folk music: "Black Cameos," "Mellows," 
"Runes and Cadences;" and a novel, Gritny People. 
In reply to certain queries, Mr. Kennedy makes free 
to declare: "My voice is a cross between a tenor 
cricket and a baritone lizard. Studied under myself 
and God. Name of present and former managers: 
R. Emmet Kennedy." 

LYCHENHEIM, MARION Pianist, Chicago. Born, 
Philadelphia. Studied under Mrs. Crosby Adams, 
Max Kramm, Heniot Levy, Jan Chiapusso, Adolph 
Weidig, and others. Debut, Chicago, 1915. Has ap- 
peared as soloist and accompanist with Adolph 
Weidig, Francis Macniillen, Lionel Tort is, Jacques 
Gordon, Florence Macbeth, Willy Burmester, and 
others. Composer of string quartet; trio for violin, 
viola, and piano; fugues for piano, children's songs, 
violin and violoncello pieces. Member, Musicians' 
Club of Women, Lake View Musical Society, Musical 
Guild, MacDowell Club. 

MARSHALL, ELIZABETH CARPENTER (Mrs. Thomas 
L. Marshall) Composer, Lake Forest, Illinois. Born, 
Winnetka, Illinois. Studied under Horace Middleton, 
Ralph Lawton, Adolph Weidig, Thorvald Otterstrom, 
Marta Milinowski, and Luigi Gulli. Niece of John 
Alden Carpenter. Compositions for violin, piano, 
voice. Musical settings for Dorothy Aid is* children's 
poems. Residence, 11 Scott St., Lake Forest, 111. 

NEMKOVSKY, MOLLIE (Mrs. Ben Abramson) 
Pianist, Chicago. Studied under Karl Reck/.eh. 
Played in concert in Northwest States, Canada and 
Alaska under direction of Dominion Concert Bureau. 
Accompanist of her brother, Sol Nemkovsky, violinist, 
in concerts. 

OTTERSTROM, THORVALD Composer, pianist, Chi- 
cago. Born, Copenhagen, Denmark. Studied under 
Sofie Wenter, St. Petersburg, Russia. Devoted to 
composition and theory. Orchestral compositions per- 
formed by Chicago, Philadelphia, New York and 
Copenhagen Symphony Orchestras. Violin and piano 
sonata and 'cello piano sonata premieres in Chicago, 
1913 and 1915. Piano solo compositions, 24 preludes 
and fugues and 6 concert studies, played by numerous 
artists in United States and Europe. Author of theo- 
retical works. Residence, 1400 E. 59th St., Chicago, 
Illinois. 

PARKS, HENRY FRANCIS Organist, conductor, 
Chicago. Born, Louisville, Ky. Studied under Leo 



Sowerby, Karl Schmidt, Fisher Thompson, Ignacio 
Lazcano, George Rogovoy, and others. Has played 
and conducted at many theaters in the West and 
Middle West. Conducted Buttc Symphony Orches- 
tra, Buttc, Mont. Taught at MacPhail School, Min- 
neapolis, and conducted Minneapolis Lyceum Sym- 
phony Orchestra, 1924-25. Member of faculty, 
Chicago Musical College; contributor to Band, Or- 
chestra, Melody, and other periodicals. Author, The 
Jazzology of Organ Playing; Tlie Modern Theater 
Organ. Member, American Guild of Organists, 
American Federation of Musicians. 

SOWERBY, LEO Composer, Chicago. Born, Grand 
Rapids, Mich., 1895. Studied piano under Calvin 
Lampert, theory under Arthur Olaf Andersen, Amer- 
ican Conservatory, Chicago. Bandmaster in United 
States army, 1918-19; taught theory at American 
Conservatory to 1921. Was first American composer 
to win the Prix de Rome, 1921, and lived at American 
Academy in Rome, 1921-23. At present, teacher of 
theory, American Conservatory, Guhn School, Chi- 
cago, and organist and choirmaster, St. James Epis- 
copal Church, Chicago. Composer of symphony, 
concertos for piano, for violin, and for violoncello, 
arrangements of folk tunes for symphony orchestra, 
symphonic poems, "King Estmere" for two pianos 
and orchestra, and "Medieval Poem" for organ and 
orchestra, many smaller works for string quartet, solo 
instruments, organ, voice, and jazz orchestra. 

WATHALL, ALFRED GEORGE Composer, violinist, 
pianist, organist, conductor; Chicago, Illinois. Born, 
Bulwell, near Nottingham, England. Came to Amer- 
ica with parents in 1890. Studied under Franz Esser, 
William Middelschulte, Peter Christian Lutkin; and 
in London, England, under Sir Charles Villiers Stan- 
ford arid Sir Frederick Bridge. At the age of twenty 
lie composed the music for George Ade's musical 
comedy, The Sultan of Sulu, which ran continuously 
for seven seasons. Member of faculty, Northwestern 
University School of Music, for ten years. Composed 
and conducted cantata, "Alice Brand," Evanston, 
1903. Other compositions include two operettas and 
many songs. As master-arranger and composer for 
WGN, the Chicago Tribune radio station, 1926 and 
1927, put on the air original musical experiments such 
as a Rhapsody for voices and orchestra, based on the 
popular tune Valencia; and a setting of Sandburg's 
Rootabaga story, "The Wedding of the Rag Doll and 
the Broom Handle." 



XVI 



Apologia 



I APOLOGIZE FOR THE IMPERFECTIONS IN THIS WORK. I BELIEVE 
NO ONE ELSE IS NOW, Ott EVER WILL BE, SO DEEPLY AWARE AND 
SO THOROUGHLY AND WIDELY CONSCIOUS OF THE IMPERFECTIONS 
IN THESE PAGES. I SHOULD LIKE TO HAVE TAKEN TEN, TWENTY, 
THIRTY YEARS MORE IN THE PREPARATION OF THIS VOLUME. 

MANY CONSIDERATIONS WHICH HAVE GOVERNED THE SELEC- 
TION OF MATERIAL, AND THE METHODS OF PRESENTATION, ARE 
NOT WORTH SETTING FORTH IN A FOREWORD, DECLARATION, OR 
ARGUMENT; THEY WOULD HAVE VALUE CHIEFLY AND ONLY TO 
THOSE WHO ALREADY UNDERSTAND SOMEWHAT THE LABYRINTHS, 
THE TWISTED PATHWAYS, AND ROADS OF LIFE, OUT OF WHICH 
THIS BOOK ISSUES. 

THE BOOK WAS BEGUN IN DEPTHS OF HUMILITY, AND ENDED 
LIKEWISE WITH THE MURMUR, **GOD BE MERCIFUL TO ME, A 
SINNER/' IT IS A BOOK FOR SINNERS, AND FOR LOVERS OF HUMAN- 
ITY. I APOLOGIZE TO THEM FOR THE SINS. OF THE BOOK AND THAT 
IT LOVES MUCH BUT NOT ENOUGH. 

CARL SANDBURG. 

Chicago, 1927 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



DRAMAS AND PORTRAITS 

HE'S GONE AWAY 3 
BOLL WEEVIL SONG 8 

MOANISH LADY! 11 

I RIDE AN OLD PAINT 12 
FOGGY, FOGGY DEW 14 

WAILLIE, WAILLIE! 16 

DIS MORNIN', DIS EVENIN', so SOON 18 

OH, BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE 20 

CARELESS LOVE 21 

THE JOHN B. SAILS 22 

JOHN HENRY 24 

MIDNIGHT SPECIAL 26 

ALICE B. 28 

PO' BOY 30 

THE OULD SOD 

AS i WAS WALKIN' DOWN WEXFORD STREET 35 

SH-TA-RA-DAII-DEY (iRISH LULLABY) 36 

SHE SAID THE SAME TO ME 38 

WHO'S THE PRETTY GIRL MILKIN' THE COW? 40 

GIVE ME THREE GRAINS OF CORN, MOTHER 41 

KEVIN BARRY 42 

THE SON OF A GAMBOLIER 44 

MINSTREL SONGS 

I WISH I WAS SINGLE AGAIN 47 
WALKY-TALKY JENNY 48 
HAYSEED 50 
GOOD-BY LIZA JANE 51 
WIZARD OIL 52 

TARNISHED LOVE TALES OR COLONIAL 
AND REVOLUTIONARY ANTIQUES 

BARBRA ALLEN 57 
THE FROZEN GIRL 58 
PRETTY POLLY 60 
COMMON BILL 62 
LITTLE SCOTCII-EE 64 
THE HOUSE CARPENTER 66 
A PRETTY FAIR MAID 68 



LORD LOVEL 70 

THE QUAKER'S WOOING 71 

THE MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS 72 

FRANKIE AND HER MAN 

FRANKIE AND ALBERT 75 
FRANKIE AND JOHNNY 78 
FRANKIE BLUES 82 
JOSIE 84 
SADIE 86 

PIONEER MEMORIES 

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY 89 

WHERE O WHERE IS OLD ELIJAH? 92 

TURKEY IN THE STRAW 94 

WHO WILL SHOE YOUR PRPJTTY LITTLE FOOT? 98 

THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL 98 

FAIR ANNIE OF LOCIIYRAN 99 

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY 100 

OLD GRAY MARE 102 

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM 104 

WHAT WAS YOUR NAME IN THE STATES? 106 

SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE 107 
CALIFORNIA 110 

THE BANKS OF SACRAMENTO 112 
MONEY 112 

THE MONKEY'S WEDDING 113 
ROSIE NELL 1 14 
CHICKEN REEL 116 

HANGING OUT THE LINEN CLOTHES 117 
DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN 118 
THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR 120 

KENTUCKY BLAZING STAR 

SOUR WOOD MOUNTAIN 125 
THE LOVER'S LAMENT 126 
HELLO, GIRLS 128 
KANSAS BOYS 129 
RED RIVER VALLEY 130 
LIZA JANE 1 32 
MOUNTAIN TOP 133 



XIX 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



NEGRO REEL 134 

ONE MORNING IN MAY 136 

THE TROUBLED SOLDIER 137 

POST-RAIL SONG 138 

HAMMER MAN 139 

LOVE SOMEBODY, YES I DO 140 

AIN'T GONNA RAIN 141 

KENTUCKY MOONSHINER 142 

MISTER FROG WENT A-COURTING 143 

KIND MISS 144 

COIN* DOWN TO TOWN 145 

THE SHIP THAT NEVER RETURNED 146 

DOWN IN TH'K VALLEY 148 

I DREAMED LAST NIGHT OF MY TRUE LOVE 

DRIVIN' STEEL 150 



THE LINCOLNS AND HANKSES 

THE MISSOURI HARMONY 152 
WINDSOR 153 
GREENFIELDS 154 
WORTHINGTON 154 
HIGHBRIDGE 155 
LEGACY 155 

THE BROWN GIRL OR FAIR ELEANOR 156 
HEY BETTY MARTIN 158 
OLD BRASS WAGON 159 
CUCKOO WALTZ 160 
WEEVILY WHEAT 161 
EL-A-NOY 162 
HOOSEN JOHNNY 164 
MY PRETTY LITTLE PINK 166 
LINCOLN AND LIBERTY 167 

OLD ABE LINCOLN CAME OUT OF THE WILDER- 
NESS 168 

GREAT LAKES AND ERIE CANAL 

THE ERIE CANAL 171 
BIGERLOW 174 
RED IRON ORE 176 
RAGING CANAWL 178 
THE E-RI-E 180 



HALLELUJAH, I'M A BUM! 184 

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP, KEEP ON A-TRAMPING 

186 
THE DYING HOGOER 186 

WANDERIN* 188 

A. R. IT. 190 

WE ARE FOUR BUMS 192 

THE BIG BRUTAL CITY 

THE POOR WORKING GIRL 195 

ROLL THE CHARIOT 196 

BRADY 198 

ON TO THE MORGUE 199 

IT'S THE SYME THE WHOLE WORLD OVER 200 

IN THE DAYS OF OLD RAMESES 202 

THE GOOD BOY 203 

WILLY THE WEEPER 204 

COCAINE LIL 206 

SHE PROMISED SHE*D MEET ME 207 

NO MORE BOOZE (FIREMAN SAVE MY CHILD) 208 

LYDIA PINKIIAM 210 

PRISON AND JAIL SONGS 

BIRD IN A CAGE 213 

YONDER COMES THE HIGH SHERIFF 213 

PORTLAND COUNTY JAIL 214 

MOONLIGHT 216 

MIDNIGHT SPECIAL (2) 217 

SEVEN LONG YEARS IN STATE PRISON 218 

WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND FOOLISH 219 

BEEN IN THE PEN SO LONG 220 

THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE 



HOBO SONGS 

SHOVELLIN' IRON ORE 



183 



BLUES, MELLOWS, BALLETS 

LEVEE MOAN 225 

THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 228 

GOT DEM BLUES 232 

DE BLUES AIN' NOTHIN* 234 
WHEN A WOMAN BLUE 236 

coo-coo (PEACOCK SONG) 237 

GREAT GAWD, I'M FEELIN* BAD 

O MY HONEY, TAKE ME BACK 239 

WHAT KIN* O* PANTS DOES THE GAMBLER 

WEAR? 240 
JOE TURNER $41 



XX 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



TIMES GETTIN' HARD, BOYS 

I'M SAD AND I'M LONELY 
C. C. RIDER 246 
YOU FIGHT ON 248 

SATAN'S A LIAH 250 

BALLET OF DE BOLL WEEVIL 252 

DE TITANIC 



THE GREAT OPEN SPACES 

WHEN THE CURTAINS OF NIGHT ARE PINNED 

BACK 259 

WHEN THE WORK'S ALL DONE THIS FALL 260 
AS I WALKED OUT IN THE STREETS OF LAREDO 

263 

THE DREARY BLACK HILLS 264 
THE LONE STAR TRAIL 266 
WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG LITTLE DO- 

GIES 268 

THE BUFFALO SKINNERS 270 
POOR LONESOME COWBOY 273 
THE TENDERFOOT 274 
LITTLE All SID 276 
THE KINKAIDERS 278 
DAKOTA LAND 280 
THE FARMER 282 
RABBLE SOLDIER 284 
THE TRAIL TO MEXICO 285 

MEXICAN BORDER SONGS 

LA CUCARACHA (MEXICAN COCKROACH SONG) 

289 

MANANITAS (DE JALISCO) 292 

LO QUE DIGO 294 

EL ABANDONADO 295 

CIELITO LINDO 298 

ADELITA 300 

VERSOS DE MONTALGO 302 

SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS 

WAY UP ON CLINCH MOUNTAIN 307 

LIZA IN THE SUMMER TIME (SHE DIED ON THE 

TRAIN) 308 

COON CAN (POOR BOY) 310 
GYPSY DAVY 311 



THE ROVING GAMBLER 312 

YONDER COMES MY PRETTY LITTLE GIRL 313 

THE GAMBOLING MAN 313 

BURY ME BENEATH THE WILLOW 314 
MAG'S SONG 316 

THE ORPHAN GIRL OR NO BREAD FOR THE POOR 

319 

1 GOT A GAL AT THE HEAD OF THE HOLLER 320 
LONESOME ROAD 322 

FOND AFFECTION 323 

GO BRING ME BACK MY BLUE-EYED BOY 324 

LONDON CITY 324 

THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN 325 

I DON'T LIKE NO RAILROAD MAN 326 

PICNIC AND HAYRACK FOLLIES, CLOSE 
HARMONY, AND DARN FOOL 
DUTIES 

SUCKING CIDER THROUGH A STRAW 329 

DID YOU EVER, EVER, EVER? 329 

I WAS BORN ALMOST TEN THOUSAND YEARS 

AGO 330 

GO GET THE AX 332 
ABA LONE 333 
IN DE VINTER TIME 334 
CIGARETTES WILL SPOIL YER LIFE 335 
MARY HAD A WILLIAM GOAT 336 
I WISH I WAS A LITTLE BIRD 338 
OLD ADAM 339 
THE HORSE NAMED BILL 340 
CRAZY SONG TO THE AIR OF "DIXIE" 342 
A BOY HE HAD AN AUGER 343 
ABDUL, THE BULBUL AMEER 344 
GREENS 347 
ANIMAL FAIR 348 
CALLIOPE 349 
SI HUBBARD 350 

RAILROAD AND WORK GANGS 

BOLSUM BROWN 355 

POOR PADDY WORKS ON THE RAILWAY 356 

THE RAILROAD CARS ARE COMING 358 

JERRY, GO AN* ILE THAT CAR 360 

IF I DIE A RAILROAD MAN 362 



XXI 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



CAP'N i BELIEVE 3G3 

JAY GOULD'S DAUGHTER AND ON THE CHAHL1E 

so IX) NO 364 

CASEY JONES 36 6 

MAMA HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? 368 

DON' LET YO' WATCH RUN DOWN 370 

THERE'S MANY A MAN KILLED ON THE RAIL- 
ROAD 371 

SHE'LL BE COMIN' ROUND THE MOUNTAIN 372 

I WENT DOWN TO THE DEPOT 374 

EVER SINCE UNCLE JOHN HENRY BEEN DEAD 
376 

GO 'WAY F'OM MAII WINDOW 377 

MY LULU 378 

THE WIND IT BLEW UP THE RAILROAD TRACK 

379 

HOG-EYE 380 

MY SISTER SHE WORKS IN A LAUNDRY 381 
I FOUND A HORSE SHOE 382 
RAILROAD HILL 384 
HANGMAN 385 
TIMBER 386 

LUMBERJACKS, LOGGERS, SHANTY- 
BOYS 

JAMES WHALAND 389 

THE SHANTY-MAN'S LIFE 390 

FLAT RIVER GIRL 392 

THE JAM ON GERRY'S ROCK 394 

DRIVING SAW-LOGS ON THE PLOVER 396 

MORRISSEY AND THE RUSSIAN SAILOR 398 

MULE SKINNER'S SONG 400 

SAILORMAN 

WHISKY JOHNNY 403 

BLOW THE MAN DOWN 404 

THE DEAD HORSE 406 

HEAVE AWAY 407 

THE WIDE MIZZOURA 408 

I CATCII-A DA PLENTY OF FEESH 409 

THE HOG-EYE MAN 410 

LEAVE HER, BULLIES, LEAVE HER 

ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN 



BANDIT BIOGRAPHIES 

JIM F1SK 416 
JESSE JAMES 4%0 
SAM BASS 422 

FIVE WARS 

THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY OR HALF HORSE 

AND HALF ALLIGATOR 4%7 
JACKSON 430 
POOR KITTY POPCORN 431 
THERE WAS AN OLD SOLDIER 432 
A FILIPINO IIOMBRE 434 

THE SERGEANT, HE IS THE WORST OF ALL 435 
WRAP ME UP IN MY TARPAULIN JACKET AND 

THE HANDSOME YOUNG AIRMAN 436 
A WAR BIRD'S BURLESQUE 438 
H1NKY DINKY, PARLEE-VOO 44 
WHERE THEY WERE 442 
THE HEARSE SONG 444 

LOVELY PEOPLE 

MAN GOIN' ROUN' 447 

ALL NIGHT LONG 448 

ZEK'L WEEP 449 

I KNOW MOONLIGHT 451 

BLIND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY 452 

BY'M BY 453 

GO TO SLEEPY 4&4 

JUNGLE MAMMY SONG 455 

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME 456 
MY OLD HAMMAII 457 
CHAHCOAL MAN 4^9 
THE WEAVER 460 
THE COLORADO TRAIL 462 

I MET HER IN THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRA- 
TIES GROW 463 
SOMEBODY 464 

I DON'T WANT TO BE A GAMBLER 465 
WHEN POOR MARY CAME WANDERING HOME 466 

ROAD TO HEAVEN 

JESUS, WON'T YOU COME B'M-BY? 469 
DESE BONES GWINE TO RISE AGAIN 



XXH 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

TWO WHITE HORSES 472 THINGS I USED TO DO 482 

WAY OVER IN THE NEW BURYIN* GROUN* 473 IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE 483 

MARY WORE THREE LINKS OF CHAIN 474 STANDIN* ON THE WALLS OF ZION 484 

PHARAOH'S ARMY GOT DROWNDED 476 A HUNDRED YEARS AGO 485 

GOOD-BYE, BROTHER 477 YOU GOT TO CROSS IT FOH YOHSELF 486 

GOD'S GOIN' TO SET THIS WORLD ON FIRE 478 i GOT A LETTER FROM JESUS 487 

AIN' GOV TO STUDY WAR NO MO* 480 EZEKIEL, YOU AND ME 488 

INDEX 493 



xxin 



DRAMAS AND PORTRAITS 



HE S GONE AWAY 

BOLL WEEVIL SONG 

MOANISII LADY! 

I RIDE AN OLD PAINT 

FOGGY, FOGGY DEW 

WAILLIE, WAILLIE! 

DIS MORNIN', DIS EVENIN', so SOON . 

OH, BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE 

CARELESS LOVE 

THE JOHN B. SAILS 

JOHN HENRY 

MIDNIGHT SPECIAL 

ALICE B 

PO' BOY 



HARMONIZATION BY PAGE 

Leo Sowerby 3 

Hazel Felman .... 8 

Henry Francis Parks . . . 11 

Hazel Felman . . . . 12 

Henry Joslyn .... 14 

Henry Joslyn .... 16 

Hazel Felman . . . . 18 

Hazel Felman .... 20 

Alfred G. Wathall .... 21 

Alfred G. Wathall .... 22 

Thorvald Otterstrom ... 24 

Henry Joslyn 2(5 

Alfred G. Wathall .... 28 

Lillian Rosedale Goodman . . 30 



The world grows more majestic but man diminishes. Why is this? We carry within us greater 
things than the Greeks, but we ourselves are smaller. It is a strange result. . . . The whole secret 
of remaining young in spite of years, and even of gray hairs, is to cherish enthusiasm in one's self 
by poetry, by contemplation, by charity. . . . The modern haunters of Parnassus carve urns of 
agate and of onyx; but inside the urns what is there? Ashes. Their work lacks feeling, seriousness, 
sincerity, and pathos in a word, soul and moral life. I cannot bring myself to sympathize with 
such a way of understanding poetry. The talent shown is astonishing, but stuff and matter are 
wanting. It is an effort of the imagination to stand alone a substitute for everything else. We 
find metaphors, rhymes, music, color, but not man, not humanity. Poetry of this factitious kind 
may beguile one at twenty, but what can one make of it at fifty? It reminds me of Pergamos, 
Alexandria, of all the epochs of decadence when beauty of form hid poverty of thought and exhaus- 
tion of feeling. I strongly share the repugnance which this poetical school arouses in simple people. 
It is as though it only cared to please the world-worn, the over-subtle, the corrupted, while it ignores 
all normal healthy life, virtuous habits, pure affections, steady labor, honesty, and duty. It is 
an affectation, and because it is an affectation the school is struck with sterility. The reader desires 
in the poet something better than a juggler in rhyme, or a conjurer in verse; he looks to find in 
him a painter of life, a being who thinks, loves, and has a conscience, who feels passion and repent- 
ance. FREDERICK AMIEL. 



HE'S GONE AWAY 



This is an arrangement from a song heard by Charles Rockwood of Geneva, Illinois, during 
a two-year residence in a mountain valley of North Carolina. It stages its own little drama and 
characters. The mountain called Yandro was the high one of this valley. A "desrick," Mr. 
Rockwood was told, is a word for our shack or shanty. The song is of British origin, marked with 
mountaineer and southern negro influences. Other mountain places in the southern states have 
their song about going away ten thousand miles; this one weaves in the exceptional theme of the 
white doves flying from bough to bough and mating, "so why not me with mine?" Mr. Sowerby 
was lighted with a rich enthusiasm about this song and has met its shaded tones with an accom- 
paniment that travels in fine companionship with the singer. 

Not too slow and not too strict An*. L. S. 






I'm goin' a- way for to stay a lit - tie while, But I'm comin' back if I go 

____ * _* * * * .* A_ 

^Spp^-- f- 








ten thou-sand miles. . 

fct* 



Oh, who will tie your shoes? And who will glove your 





gEfe^g 



=g^al 



hands? And who will kiss your ru - by lips when I am gone? 



Oh, it's 




HE'S GONE AWAY 




~1 I 

?~3 



pap - py'll tie my shoes, 



^ 









js[ k~ 



And mam -my '11 glove my hands, 



And 






A 












you will kiss my ru - by lips when you come back ! . 



Oh, he's 













gone, he s gone a - way, Jbor to stay a lit - tie while; 



^F=^- 



i^te=e=Ur^M= 



"T~.. I 5 

I^tJIZ^:=EEl 



But he*s coin-in* back if he goes ten thou-sand miles. 



Look a - way, . 



1" -- 1 1 





JO 



-^ 



HE'S GONE AWAY 




. . look a - way 



o - ver Yan - dro, 









On Yan - dro's high hill, 






where them white doves are 

* 







fly - in' From bough to bough and a - mat - in* with their mates, So why not me 

if:^EE*~^??^^ 






r 



r 






with mine? 






For he's gone, oh, he's gone a -way For to stay a lit - tie 



retarding 



f)f) in time 



HE'S GONE AWAY 






while, But he's com - in' back if he goes ten thou-sand miles. . I'll go 




T=J- T?^ 










build me a des-rick on Yan-dro's high, hill, Where the wild beasts won't bother me 










^^^^^fi^^^^^:^ 



nor hear my sad cry; For he's gone, he's gone a -way for to stay a lit -tie 






1 






-J -TC^j*^F.~~^~~^=^rjL ~\ ]- k | -rr_... _zpzr -rrzrrn 

^3EgHg4^^fc^&z^^E^L-^^r4^p^y |j 



while, But he's com-in' back tf he goes ten thou-sand miles. 



is* 



I 



f>f>f> /TN 



ES 



f=f=^g^F--=O: 



HE'S GONE AWAY 

I'm goin* away for to stay a little while, 

But I'm comin' back if I go ten thousand miles. 

Oh, who will tie your shoes? 

And who will glove your hands? 

And who will kiss your ruby lips when I am gone? 

Oh, it's pappy '11 tie my shoes, 

And mammy '11 glove my hands, 

And you will kiss my ruby lips when you come back! 

Oh, he's gone, he's gone away, 

For to stay a little while; 

But he's comin* back if he goes ten thousand miles. 



Look away, look away, look away over Yandro, 
On Yandro's high hill, where them white doves are flyin' 
From bough to bough and a-matin' with their mates, 
So why not me with mine? 

For he's gone, oh he's gone away 

For to stay a little while, 

But he's comin' back if he goes ten thousand miles. 

I'll go build me a desrick on Yandro \s high hill, 
Where the wild beasts won't bother me nor hear my sad cry; 
For he's gone, he's gone away for to stay a little while, 
But he's comin' back if he goes ten thousand miles. 



BOLL WEEVIL SONG 



A boll weevil couple, arriving in a cotton field in the springtime, will have, by the end of summer, 
more than twelve million descendants to carry on the family traditions. So it is estimated. They 
are a species of creatures among whom there is no talk at all about " the first families." The billion 
dollar devastations of this little eater of cotton crops are of America's traditions of tragedy. J. 
Russell Smith, the geographer, says the economic loss caused by the boll weevil equals in amount 
that of the four year war in the 'sixties. John Lomax first sang this for the present writer, and of 
four different airs and sets of words the Lomax version is the most important; the other boll weevil 
songs are worth printing, however, for artistic and scientific purposes. I have known this song 
for eight years, since the year John Lomax and his family lived in Indian Hill, Illinois, and it never 
loses its strange overtones, with its smiling commentary on the bug that baffles the wit of man, with 
its whimsical point that while the boll weevil can make a home anywhere the negro, son of man, 
hath not where to lay his head, and with its intimation, perhaps, that in our mortal life neither the 
individual human creature, nor the big human family shall ever find a lasting home on the earth. 
Elements, weather, crop gambling, fate, Lady Luck, flit in the backgrounds. It is a paradoxical 
blend of moods: quickstep and dirge, hilarious defiance and bowed resignation. 



Lively with overtones of pathos 



Arr. II. F. 




Oh,de boll wee- vil am a lit- tie black bug,Come from Mex-i- co, dey say, Come 





all de way to Tex - as jus' a - look-in* foh a place to stay, Jus' a - look-in' f oh a 








8 



BOLL WEEVIL SONG 



Last ending 



i 



PP 



home,. 



jus' a - look - in' foh a home. 




m 






1 



=3= 



1 Oh, de boll weevil am a little black bug, 

Come from Mexico, dey say, 

Come all de way to Texas, jus' a-lookin' foh a place to stay, 
Jus' a-lookin' foh a home, jus' a-lookin' foh a home. 

2 De first time I seen de boll weevil, 

He was a-settin' on de square. 

De next time I seen de boll weevil, he had all of his family dere. 
Jus' a-lookin' foh a home, jus' a-lookin' foh a home. 

3 De farmer say to de weevil : 

" What make yo' head so red?" 

De weevil say to de farmer, *' It's a wondah I ain't dead, 
A-lookin' foh a home, jus' a-lookin' foh a home." 

4 De farmer take de boll weevil, 

An' he put him in de hot san*. 

De weevil say: " Dis is mighty hot, but I'll stan' it like a man, 
Dis'll be my home, it'll be my home." 

5 De fanner take de boll weevil, 

An' he put him in a lump of ice; 

De boll weevil say to de farmer: " Dis is mighty cool and nice, 
It'll be my home, dis'll be my home." 

6 De farmer take de boll weevil, 

An' he put him in de fire. 

De boll weevil say to de farmer: "Here I are, here I are, 
Dis'll be my home, dis'll be my home." 







BOLL WEEVIL SONG 

7 De boll weevil say to de farmer: 
" You better leave me alone; 

I done eat all yo' cotton, now I'm goin' to start on yo' corn, 
I'll have a home, I'll have a home." 



8 De merchant got half de cotton, 

De boll weevil got de res'. 

Didn't leave de farmer's wife but one old cotton dress, 
An' it's full of holes, it's full of holes. 



9 De farmer say to de merchant: 

" We's in an awful fix; 

De boll weevil et all de cotton up an* lef ' us only sticks, 
We's got no home, we's got no home." 



10 De farmer say to de merchant : 

" We ain't made but only one bale, 

And befoh we'll give yo' dat one we'll fight and go to jail, 
We'll have a home, we'll have a home." 



11 De cap'n say to de missus: 

" What d' you t'ink o' dat? 

De boll weevil done make a nes' in my bes' Sunday hat, 
Goin' to have a home, goin' to have a home." 



12 An' if anybody should ax you 

Who it was dat make dis song, 

Jus' tell 'em 'twas a big buck niggah wid a paih o' blue duckin's on. 
Am' got no home, ain' got no home. 



10 



MOANISH LADY I 



This offshoot of the spiritual, "Mourner, You Shall be Free," has been widely known for many 
years among barber shop harmonizers. The other stanzas of the barber shop version, however, 
are so lackadaisical that they don't do justice to the stately cadence of that solemn promise that 
when the good Lord shall call you home you shall be free. Any one requiring foolish verses for this 
air can easily improvise as silly ones as have been left out here. The music is too superbly serious 
to have cheap lines. 

Arr. H. F. P. 
Evangelically ^ 



Oh! there was a moanish la - dy Lived in a moan- ish land,She had a moanish daughter 




1 
-J* 



Monotonously 



I 



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| _ I fs -fe ft fe K ft I 

r==rf3^=*^ : ?=E3==^3==$3r 

* ^-= * Jt- 



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Could moan at the Lord's com-mand. Moanish la - dy 



and you shall be 




f^S 








m 



^=*T 



IHH 



f ree,Moanish lion - ey, and you shall be free When the good Lord shall call you home. 

/T\ 



m 



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4 



=3=3= 



FRfc 



*= 



Eb*r 



3 



11 



I RIDE AN OLD PAINT 

This arrangement is from a song made known by Margaret Larkin of Las Vegas, New Mexico, 
who intones her own poems or sings cowboy and Mexican songs to a skilled guitar strumming, 
and by Linn Riggs, poet and playwright, of Oklahoma in particular and the Southwest in general. 
The song came to them at Santa Fe from a buckaroo who was last heard of as heading for the Border 
with friends in both Tucson and El Paso. The song smells of saddle leather, sketches ponies and 
landscapes, and varies in theme from a realistic presentation of the drab Bill Jones and his violent 
wife to an ethereal prayer and a cry of phantom tone. There is rich poetry in the image of the 
rider so loving a horse he begs when he dies his bones shall be tied to his horse and the two of them 
sent wandering with their faces turned west. 

Arr. H. F. 



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j =: K ) ] r r^i 






I ride an old Paint, I lead - an old Dan, 

"fflniFl ^ \ 


I'm goin* toMon-tan* for to 

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throw the hool - i - an. They feed in the cou - lees, they wa - ter in the draw, Their 

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tails are all mat- ted, their backs are all raw. Ride a-round, lit- tie do - gies,Ride a - 

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I RIDE AN OLD PAINT 




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round them slow, For the fier - y and snuf - fy are a - rar - in' to go. 



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1 I ride an old Paint, I lead an old Dan, 

I'm goin' to Montan' for to throw the hoolian. 
They feed in the coulees, they water in the draw, 
Their tails are all matted, their backs are all raw. 

Ride around, little dogies, 

Ride around them slow, 

For the fiery and snuffy are a-rarin' to go. 

2 Old Bill Jones had two daughters and a song, 
One went to Denver and the other went wrong. 
His wife she died in a poolroom fight, 

Still he sings from mornin' till night. 

Ride around, little dogies, 

Ride around them slow, 

For the fiery and snuffy are a-rarin ' to go. 

3 Oh, when I die, take my saddle from the wall, 
Put it on my pony, lead him out of his stall. 

Tie my bones to his back, turn our faces to the West, 
And we'll ride the prairie that we love the best. 

Ride around, little dogies, 

Ride around them slow, 

For the fiery and snuffy are a-rarin' to go. 



13 



FOGGY, FOGGY DEW 

This arrangement is from a song rather widely known, which I heard first from Arthur 
Sutherland and his bold buccaneers at the Eclectic Club of Wesleyan University. A middle verse 
is censored from this version as being out of key and probably an interpolation. At least, it is what 
they call apocryphal and of the twilight zone. Observers as diverse as Sinclair Lewis, Sherwood 
Anderson, Arthur T. Vance and D. W. Griffith say this song is a great condensed novel of real life. 
After hearing it sung with a guitar at Schlogl's one evening in Chicago, D. W. Griffith telegraphed 
two days later from New York to Lloyd Lewis in Chicago, "Send verses Foggy Dew stop tune 
haunts me but am not sure of words stop please do this as I am haunted by the song." 

Arr. H. J. 




is 



^ 



1. When I was a bach' -lor, I liv'd by my-self, I 




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work'd at the wea-ver's 


trade; The 


on - ly, on - ly thing 


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did that was wrong Was to woo a fair young maid. 



I woo'd her in the 






FOGGY, FOGGY DEW 






win-ter time And in thesum-mer, too; . And the on- ly, on- ly thing I 



zgE^rz^^ 



FINE 




did that was wrong Was to keep her from the fog - gy, fog - gy dew. 



2. Oh, 









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i 



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1 When I was a bach 'lor, I lived by myself, 
I worked at the weaver's trade; 

The only, only thing I did that was wrong 

Was to woo a fair young maid. 

I wooed her in the winter-time 

And in the summer, too; 

And the only, only thing I did that was wrong, 

Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew. 

2 Oh, I am a bach'lor, I live with my son; 
We work at the weaver's trade; 

And ev'ry single time I look into his eyes 

He reminds me of the fair young maid. 

He reminds me of the winter-time 

And of the summer too; 

And the many, many times that I held her in my arms, 

Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew. 



15 



WAILLIE, WAILLIE! 

An arrangement of an old-time British piece as made known by Daniel Read and Isadora 
Bennett Read of Chicago, Illinois, and Columbia, South Carolina. Its stately diction might be 
compared to certain laced ladies and ruffled gentlemen imprisoned in fine porcelain works of Eng- 
land a century or two ago. It is a deep heart cry, too profound and prolonged to be called poignant, 
yet shaken with memory of passion. 

- J ' 



Slow 



When cock-le shells . . 



Turn sil-ver 




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ft_^r^^ n r n 

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Then will my love re - turn . to me. When 



Et 



ros-es 




WAILLIE, WAILLIE! 



wail - lie, But love is bon - nie 



A lit - tie while When 







3E 



B 




=K 



And fades a - way like eve - ning dew. 



St^^rZ~5fe:ij 

* ! v ttr l7" 



When cockle shells turn silver bells, 
Then will my love return to me. 
When roses blow, in wintry snow, 
Then will my love return to me. 
Oh, waillie! waillie! 
But love is bonnie 
A little while when it is new ! 
But it grows old and waxeth cold, 
And fades away like evening dew. 

17 



DIS MORNIN', DIS EVENIN', SO SOON 



This arrangement is from the ballad as sung by Nancy Barnhart, painter and etcher, of St. 
Louis. It is a monotone of life in songtones of dusk colors and rhythms that emerge from shadows. 
The final verse is a scenario for a pantomime. 

Arr. H. F. 

Not too fast 

35iiJbr^5iK=sz^3^ Kltg^TZIZl^ 




4 



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: jL -*-J- :ri3? _j^ ^j - _. 



m 



Tell old Bill, when he leaves home dis niorn-in', . 

fctererd^ =^=r I I- 



Tell old Bill, when 



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he leaves home dis eve - nin', . 



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Tell old Bill, when he leaves home, To 



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*- 







let dcm down-town coons a - lone, Dis morn -in 7 , dis eve- nin', so soon. 



m 



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18 



DIS MORNIN', DIS EVENIN', SO SOON 

1 Tell old Bill, when he leaves home dis mornin', 
Tell old Bill, when he leaves home dis evenin', 
Tell old Bill, when he leaves home, 
To let dem down-town coons alone 
Dis mornin', dis evenin', so soon. 

% Bill left by de alley gate dis mornin', 
Bill left by de alley gate dis evenin', 
Bill left by de alley gate, 
Old Sal says: Now don' be late, 
Dis mornin', dis evenin', so soon. 

3 Bill's wife was a bakin' bread dis mornin', 
Bill's wife was a bakin' bread dis evenin', 
Bill's wife was a bakin' bread, 

When she got word dat Bill was dead 
Dis mornin', dis eveiiin', so soon. 

4 O dear, dat can't be so, dis mornin', 
O dear, dat can't be so, dis evenin', 
O dear, dat can't be so; 

For Bill left home 'bout a hour ago, 
Dis mornin', dis evenin', so soon. 

5 O dear, dat cannot be, dis mornin', 
O dear, dat cannot be, dis evenin', 
O dear, dat cannot be, 

Dey shoot my husband in de firs' degree, 
Dis mornin', dis evenin', so soon. 

6 Dey brought Bill home in a hurry-up wagon dis mornin', 
Dey brought Bill home in a hurry-up wagon dis eveiiin,' 
Dey brought Bill home in a hurry-up wagon, 

Dey brought Bill home wid his toes a-draggin', 
Dis mornin'. dis evenin', so soon. 



19 



OH, BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE 

This arrangement is from a song tnown to boys of the Crossroads Club at the University 
of Oregon. After a recital and reception there one evening three years ago, we held a song and story 
session lasting till five o'clock in the morning. Nearly all nations and the seven seas were repre- 
sented. A contingent from the Black Hills of South Dakota sang this version of The Cowboy's 
Lament. They put their arms on each other's shoulders, stood in a circle, and cried the lines almost 
as a ritual from lonesome flat lands, the arms on each other's shoulders signifying that no matter 
how tough life might be they could meet it if they stood together. They pronounced "wind" with 
a long "i" as in "find" or "blind," and said the cowhands always sang it in that classical manner. 

Arr. H. R 









Where the rat - tie- snakes hiss 









Oh, bur- y me not on the lone 
I ^ * 

ES3EW 




^ _____^_^J 




1 Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie, 
Where the wild kiyotes will howl o'er me; 
Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free, 
Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie! 



They heeded not his dying prayer, 

They buried him there on the lone prairie, 

In a little box just six by three, 

His bones now rot on the lone prairie. 



CARELESS LOVE 



This poem, trying to ease heartbreak, uses the simplest of words. They go to a soft, brave 
melody. R. W. Gordon, from whose handsome collection this comes, says it reckons among authen- 
tic folk fabrics; he has heard it with slight variations in several southern regions. Its lyric cry is 
brief, poignant as Sappho. Its measures are close to silence and to art "to be overheard rather 
than heard." 

Moderate espressivo Arr. A. G. W. 



m 



l / K 




a^Pg 



^ - - 

Love, oh love, oh care-less love, 




Love, oil love, oh care-less love, 




=f^fe^ 



love, oh love, oh care-less love, 



"".-fr I |'l 



You see what love has done for me. 




1 Love, oh love, oh careless love, 
Love, oh love, oh careless love, 
It's love, oh love, oh careless love, 
You see what love has done for me. 

2 Sorrow, sorrow, to rny heart, 
Sorrow, sorrow, to my heart, 
Sorrow, sorrow, to my heart, 

When me and my true love have to part. 

3 It's a pity that we ever met, 
It's a pity that we ever met, 
It's a pity that we ever met, 

For those good times we'll never forget. 

4 Now my money's spent and gone, 
Now my money's spent and gone, 
Now my money's spent and gone, 
You passed my door a-singing a song. 



5 Oh I love my mama and my papa too, 
Oli I love my rnama and my papa too, 
Oh I love my mama and my papa too, 
But I'd leave them both and go with you. 

6 Oh I cried last night and the night before, 
Oh I cried last night and the night before, 
Oh I cried last night and the night before, 
Going to cry to-night and I'll cry no more. 

7 Oh ain't it enough to break my heart, 
Oh ain't it enough to break my heart, 
Oh ain't it enough to break my heart, 
To sec my man with another sweetheart. 

8 Oh it's done and broke this heart of mine, 
Oh it's done and broke this heart of mine, 
Oh it's done and broke this heart of mine, 
And it'll break that heart of yours some time. 



THE JOHN B. SAILS 



John T. McCuteheon, cartoonist and kindly philosopher, and his wife Evelyn Shaw McCuteheon, 
mother and poet, learned to sing this on their Treasure Island in the West Indies. They tell of it, 
"Time and usage have given this song almost the dignity of a national anthem around Nassau. The 
weathered ribs of the historic craft lie imbedded in the sand at Governor's Harbor, whence an expedi- 
tion, especially sent up for the purpose in 1920, extracted a knee of horseflesh and a ring-bolt. These 
relics arc now preserved and built into the Watch Tower, designed by Mr. Howard Shaw and 
built on our southern coast a couple of points east by north of the star Canopus. " 

Moderate m elan col ico Arr. A. G. W. 

I 



- J v 



Oh, we come on the sloop John B., My gran' - fad - der an' me. 



mf 












Round Nus-sau Town we did roam, 




fight, 



I feel so break-up I want to go home! 





REFRAIN 
POC f 



THE JOHN B. SAILS 



^ 



:fcarj^JE 



" 1 



So hoist up the Jo/w 1?. sails, 



See how de main - s'l set, 



Send for de Capt'n a-shore, Lem-me go home ! 



Lein-megoh 



Lem-me go 




home! 



I feel so" break-up I want to go home! 




1 Oh, we come on the sloop John B. 9 
My gran'fadder an' me. 
Round Nassau Town we did roam, 
Drinking all night, we got in a fight, 
I feel so break-up I want to go home! 

REFRAIN 

So hoist up the John B. sails, 
See how de main-s'l set, 
Send for de Capt'n ashore, Lemme go home! 
Lemme go home! Lemme go home! 
I feel so break-up I want to go home! 



2 De first mate he got drunk, 
Break up de people's trunk. 

Constable come aboard an' take him away. 

Mr. Johnstone, please let me alone. 

I feel so break-up I want to go home! Refrain 

3 De poor cook he got fits, 
Tro' 'way all de grits, 

Den he took an' eat up all o* my corn! 

Lemme go home, I want to go home! 

Di is de worst trip since I been born! Refrain 



JOHN HENRY 



In southern work camp gangs, John Henry is the strong man, or the ridiculous man, or anyhow 
the man worth talking about, having a myth character somewhat like that of Paul Bunyan 
in work gangs of the Big Woods of the North. He is related to John Hardy, as balladry goes, but 
wears brighter bandannas. The harmonization is by Thorvald Otterstrom: it is massive in its 
pounding and evokes the atmosphere in which the powerful titan, John Henry, "does his stuff." 

Arr. T. O 

Smoothly and fast 



/ 



Dat a man wtiz a 



/ With humor and a firm rhythm 










=t 



man, An* be - fo' he'd let dat steam drill beat him down He'd fall dead 

-S- 



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*- 




tt^-tth-d - F-^-'-J ^- - 1-- -H- 

ft ^ ^ * - 



m* 

* 



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wid a ham-mer in his han', He'd fall dead 



wid a ham-mer in his han'. 




1 L^I 

t = ^ r * H 

5t 4 3 
* ^ 






JOHN HENRY 



1 John Henry toP his cap'n 
Dat a man wuz a natural man, 

An* befo' he'd let dat steam drill run him down, 
He'd fall dead wid a hammer in his han', 
He'd fall dead wid a hammer in his han'. 

2 Cap'n he sez to John Henry : 

" Gonna bring me a steam drill 'round; 
Take that steel drill out on the job, 
Gonna whop that steel on down, 
Gonna whop that steel on down." 

3 John Henry sez to his cap'n: 

" Send me a twelve-poun' hammer aroun', 
A twelve-poun' hammer wid a fo'-foot handle, 
An' I beat yo' steam drill down, 
An' I beat yo' steam drill down." 

4 John Henry sez to his shaker: 
" Niggah, why don' yo' sing? 

I'm throwin' twelve poun' from my hips on 

down, 

Jes' lissen to de coP steel ring, 
Jes' lissen to de col' steel ring! " 

5 John Henry went down de railroad 
Wid a twelve-poun' hammer by his side, 

He walked down de track but he didn' come 

back, 

'Cause he laid down his hammer an' he died, 
'Cause he laid down his hammer an' he died. 

6 John Henry hammered in de mountains, 
De mountains wuz so high. 

De las' words I heard de pore boy say : 
" Gimme a cool drink o' watah fo' I die, 
Gimme a cool drink o* watah fo' I die! " 



7 John Henry had a little baby, 
Hel* him in de palm of his han'. 

De las' words I heard de pore boy say: 
" Son, yo're gonna be a steel-drivin' man, 
Son, yo're gonna be a steel-drivin' man! " 

8 John Henry had a 'ooman, 
De dress she wo' wuz blue. 

De las' words I heard de pore gal say: 
" John Henry, I ben true to yo', 
John Henry, I ben true to yo*." 

9 John Henry had a li'l 'ooman, 
De dress she wo' wuz brown. 

De las' words I heard de pore gal say: 
" I'm goin' w'eah mah man went down, 
I'm goin' w'eah mah man went down! " 

10 John Henry had anothah 'ooman, 
De dress she wo' wuz red. 

De las' words I heard de pore gal say: 
" I'm goin' w'eah mah man drapt daid, 
I'm goin' w'eah mah man drapt daid! " 

1 1 John Henry had a li'l 'ooman, 
Her name wuz Polly Ann. 

On de day John Henry he drap daid 
Polly Ann hammered steel like a man, 
Polly Ann hammered steel like a man. 

12 W'eah did yo' git dat dress! 

W'eah did you git dose shoes so fine? 
Got dat dress f'm off a railroad man, 
An' shoes f'm a driver in a mine, 
An' shoes f'm a driver in a mine. 



MIDNIGHT SPECIAL 



* This arrangement is from the song as rendered by midnight prowlers in Dallas and Fort Worth, 
Texas. It is impressionistic in style, delivering the substance of two lives in brief array. We see 
the man behind the bars looking out toward Roberta, who carries a document given her by some 
politician or precinct worker. The warden tells her, probably, the day is not Visitor's Day. As 
her man considers that he has twenty years yet to serve, he cries out that he would rather be under 
the wheels of a fast midnight train. 

Arr. H. J. 

Moderately fast 




Yon - der come Ro - ber - ta! 



Tell me how do you know? 




^ 



E:^~ft--ifr==ft 

m ^ ^ ^ - 



f 3 H* r f^-fcE-~r~= ^ 

_t tt 1 fe LJ=^ L^: 



. . By de col - or of her a - pron . . an' de dress she wo' 





Um - ber - el - la on her shoul - der, 



piece o' pa - per in her ban', 



MIDNIGHT SPECIAL 

rit. 







HI 



She says to the cap - 'n: 



"I want my man!" 

rit. 




tempo 



Let de Mid - night Spe - cial . . shine a light on me, . . . . 




^ grrr-..^ ? -^ j- 



rit motto rit. . . 




Oh, twen-ty long years .... in de pen - i - ten - tiar - y ! . 

rit. 

^3~ 







Yonder come Roberta! Tell me how do you know? 

By de color ob her apron and de dress she wo*. 

Umberella on her shoulder, piece o' paper in her han', 
She says to de cap'n: " I want my man!" 

Let de Midnight Special shine a light on me, 

Oh twenty long years in de pen-i-ten-tiar-y! 

87 



ALICE B. 



This is arranged from the ballad as sung by Arthur Sutherland and the buccaneers of the 
Eclectic Club of Wesleyan University. Sutherland, who is the son of a lawyer in Rochester, New 
York, first heard of Alice B. when he was with the American Relief Expedition in Armenia, riding 
on top of a box car to Constantinople with a friend who came from New Orleans, Louisiana, and 
who in that gulf port one day paid $1.50 to a hobo to sing Alice B. as he, the hobo, had just heard 
it a few days previously in Memphis from a negro just arriving from Galveston, Texas. This is 
as far back as we have to date traced the Alice B. ballad. Though the verses have wicked and 
violent events for a theme, they point a moral and adorn a tale in their conclusion. In a sense it 
is propaganda in favor of the Volstead Act. 

Arr. A. G. W. 
Not too slow 



I3 



__ ._ 

=^=2^ 



4 



Oh I'm goin' out West, . . down on the Ri - o Grande, 



Sing -in 








fare-thec, my hon- ey, O my hon-ey, fare -thec-well ! I'm goin' out West, . down 

" 



*=== 3 r^=^f^ 
=5 I 04=? 







bfcz=G= 






5 




on the Ri - o Grande, 



And it's fare-thee, O my hon - ey, fare- thee-well! 



ALICE B. 

1 I'm goin' out West, down on the Rio Grande, 

Singin' fare-thee, O my honey, O my honey, fare-thee-well! 
I'm goin' out West, down on the Rio Grande, 
And it's fare-thee, O my honey, fare-thee-well! 

2 The twenty-fifth of September, Martin F. a man tall and slender, 
He was the man who committed that most terrible deed. 

On a Sunday morning, with hardly any warning, 
He shot and killed his high-brown Alice B. 

3 Martin F. was a coward, he run, how he did run! 
In his hand he carried a smokin' forty-one; 

He ran up to de co't, says: " Judge, I committed that terrible crime, 
And now I'm ready for to serve my ninety-and-nine." 

4 Alice B. like a baby lay on her dyin' bed. 

She says: " Mammy, I want you to take care of my little girl. 
Keep her feet from slippin' through, 'cause I love her, 'deed I do, 
An' I hopes to meet her in that other worlY' 

5 De judge held co't de very next day; 

Martin F. refused, absolutely refused, to testify. 
He says: " Judge, I killed my baby, my Alice B., 
And now that I killed her I'm all ready to die." 

6 " She was a good woman, an' I loved her, 'deed I did. 
We had such good times, together all the time; 

Till one night I went out, got filled with nigger gin, 
An' when I saw her I completely los' my min'." 

7 Then come all you rounders, an' all you high-browns too, 
Take heed to what dis man has done. 

You may go out some night, get filled with squirrel rum, 
An' do the very same thing that Martin has done. 

8 Then I'm goin' out West, down on the Rio Grande, 
Singin' fare-thee, my honey, my honey, fare-thee-well! 
I'm goin' out West, down on the Rio Grande, 

Singin' fare-thee, O my honey, fare-thee-well! 



per BOY 



Po* Boy is a jail song in Oklahoma and Texas. It is also heard among post-graduates from 
jail in the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. We are left to infer that if the "po* boy" 
had made a safe getaway after taking a bag of mail from the baggage car, the woman in the case 
would not have run away with another man but would have stayed with him to enjoy the loot. 
The lilt of the song is almost gay throughout except for the steady beat of the mournful, melodious 
vocables of "po* boy." The "Katy" train is a reference to the Missouri, Kansas & Texas, or 
" K.T." railway. Of course, though this is a jail song, it is sung by many who are free and " outside." 



Allegretto 



Arr. L. R. G. 




cold,cold ground; My dad-dy went a - way; My . sis - ter mar-ricd a 







rz*r 






~f Z> d^TT^E^E^ fH 

%-^fc^*^* ^'5 ^b=k-=b^^b^^y^~"" \^^ 



i 



r V 

gam-blin' man; And now Fve gone a - stray. . . I sit here in the 

i 



PO' BOY 



E_-ft 



pris - on; I do the best I can; But I get to think-in' of the 

^^^^^i^^^^^^^^^^E^ 1111 ^^ 

"W^ "^ JB" fi^ 1 



f r t 




She ran a - way with an- oth - er man, po* boy, She ran a - way with an - oth -er 

^Ir r- ^eg3 h r^rr^i 




y- 



man; 



I get to think -in' of the worn-! 



I love 



iPi 




=r 



31 



PC' BOY 



rttard. 




She ran a -way with an - oth - er man, po' boy! 




ritard. 



1 My mammy's in the cold, cold ground; 
My daddy went away; 

My sister married a gamblin' man; 

And now I've gone astray. 

I sit here in the prison; 

I do the best I can; 

But I get to thinkin* of the woman I love; 

She ran away with another man. 

Chorus: She ran away with another man, po* boy, 
She ran away with another man. 
I get to thinkin' of the woman I love; 
She ran away with another man. 

2 Away out on the prairie, 

I stopped that Katy train; 

I took the mail from the baggage car; 

And walked away in the rain. 

They got the bloodhounds on me, 

And chased me up a tree; 

And then they said, " Come down, my boy, 

And go to the penitentiaree." 

Chorus: She ran away with another man, po' boy, etc. 

3 t( Oh, mister judge, oh, mister judge, 
What are you going to do to me? " 

" If the jury finds you guilty, my boy, 

I'm going to send you to the penitentiaree." 

They took me to the railroad station; 

A train came rolling by; 

I looked in the window, saw the woman I love; 

Hung down my head and cried. 

Chorus: Hung down my head in shame, po' boy, 
Hung down my head and cried; 
I looked in the window, saw the woman I love, 
Hung down my head and cried, po' boy! 
32 



THE OULD SOD 



AS I WAS WALKIN DOWN WEXFORD STREET 

SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY (IRISH LULLABY) 

SHE SAID THE SAME TO ME . 

WHO'S THE PRETTY GIRL MILKIN* THE COW? 

GIVE ME THREE .GRAINS OF CORN, MOTHER 

KEVIN BARRY 

THE SON OF A GAMBOLIER .... 



HARMONIZATION BY 

Lillian Rosedale Goodman 
Edward Collins 
Alfred G. Wathall . . 
Alfred G. Wathall . . 

Mollie Nemkovsky 



PAGE 

35 
36 
38 
40 
41 
42 
44 



AS I WAS WALKIN' DOWN WEXFORD STREET 

This should be sung easily and casually to begin with, but in the end it is a Celtic "crying out 
loud." The mood or tone seems to be of that important Irish drama, "The W'hite Headed Boy," 
where there is trouble for everybody with nobody to blame, or all at fault. This lilt, too, is from 
Mother McKinley, formerly of McKinley, Iowa, and later of Chicago. 

Arr. L. R. G. 



As I was walk-in' down Wex-ford Street Me 







fa - ther's house I chanc't to meet; Me a - ged fa - ther stood in the durc, An'me 




V. * i ^ -4 J- *^ 




ritard. 






sis - ter stood on the flure, . . While me ten - der moth- er her hair she ture. 




As I was walkin* down Wexford Street 
Me father's house I chanc't to meet; 
Me aged father stood in the dure, 
An' me sister stood on the flure, 
While me tender mother her hair she ture. 
35 



SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY 



(IRISH LULLABY) 

This little croon is an impromptu, made up in some hour when a man or woman holding a baby, 
or rocking a cradle, needed hushing words for a hushing tune. Of course, the statistical information 
that a dollar a day is all they pay for work on the boulevard does not interest a sleepy child, but as 
crooned by Robert E. Lee, of the Chicago Tribune, the word "boul-e-vard" has comforting and sooth- 
ing quality. Lee heard the song from an Irishman in charge of the railroad station at Wallingford, 
Iowa. While selling passenger tickets, or making out way-bills, or figuring freight demurrage, or 
hustling trunks off and on baggage cars, or piling crates of eggs, "the agent" would ease his heart 

with this lullaby. 

Arr. E. C. 
With a sigh f)f) 






Sh - ta - ra-dah-dey, sh-ta- dey, Times is might - y 










f r^zz^f 

* ^ k >- 



hard. A dol - lar a day is all they pay For work on the botil - e - 



s 



senza cresc. 



J -.L r -L 

^ _ ^ * 1 m. 

Jlj! Z L.5-! 

~*+n r|u f. I ~^^ 




Fd 



57 



.__r 



vard. 



^^E^^^^Eg^^EI:^ 



Sh - ta - ra - dah-dey, sh - ta - dey, Times is might -y hard. A 







sempre )C)D 



f 






SH-TA-RA-DAH-DEY 



^ 






&====E3E 



S 



-P + 



dol - lar a day is all they pay For work on the boul - e - vard. 








Sh - ta - ra - dah- dey, sh - ta - dey, Times is might - y hard, . . A 
5^: 5^_ , .... 

j , 9 




--=^j p 

* * 



dol - lar a day is all they pay For work on the boul - e - vard. 

J^- 

^f^^^B^ 




Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey, sh-ta-dey, 
Times is mighty hard. 
A dollar a day is all they pay 
For work on the boulevard. 
Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey, sh-ta-dey, 
Times is mighty hard. 
A dollar a day is all they pay 
For work on the boulevard. 
Sh-ta-ra-dah-dey, sh-ta-dey, 
Times is mighty hard. 
A dollar a day is all they pay 
For work on the boulevard. 
37 



SHE SAID THE SAME TO ME 



A briefly etched love story is here, with only a first chapter, leaving the middle and ending 
chapters untold. There may be other verses telling of marriage and children, or of fate that ran 
otherwise. It is a true Irish lilt, and was sung by folks from the Ould Sod who settled in Iowa. 
This version is from Mother McKinley of the family from whom the town of McKinley, Iowa, 
was named. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



^ 






s 



3E 



Q j 9 _... 



Twas in the month of Au - gust, . or the mid - die of Ju - ly, . . One 





g r- i ^ 



^ 









eve- ning I went walk -ing, . a fair maid-en I did spy; . . She was 




melanconico 



3: 






mourn - in* for her true love, who was in A - mer - i - kce, . . Agh, 







38 



SHE SAID THE SAME TO ME 



5EE=j^S 




div - il a word I said to her, and she said the same to 




'Twas in the month of August, or the middle of July, 
One evening I went walking, a fair maiden I did spy; 
She was mournin' for her true love, who was in Arnerikee, 
Agh, divil a word I said to her, and she said the same to me! 




39 



WHO'S THE PRETTY GIRL MILKIN' THE COW? 



The fragment here is probably a make-over, a distillation, from an Irish song of lesser grace 
and melody. Bob Lee sang this for me, but wasn't sure he had the words right; he would see the 
traffic policeman, Tom Burke, and be sure; and Burke said, "Why should ye be wantin' that little 

song? It's old. Everybody knows it." 

Arr. A. G. W. 













'twas on a bright mom - in' in sum-mer When I first heard her 

5 "L^I S- 

^3gfrJjfa |t E : Er*j|E^=rU^ fl'^EfeiP^ 1 '-'] 

<~" r 



(Icggiero) (rnJO) (dolcissimo) 










voice sing - in 



i 



low 



As he said to a col - leen be - 

ji \_ [^_._<i 





/T\ ^7% ^TN 






H 



side him: "Who's the pret - ty girl milk - in* the cow?" 




O 'twas on a bright mornin' in summer 
When I first heard her voice singin' low 
As he said to a colleen beside him: 
"Who's the pretty girl milkin' the cow?' 

40 



GIVK ME THREE GRAINS OF CORN, MOTHER 

Sometimes it happens that a maudlin, drivelling song published elaborately as sheet music 
undergoes a transformation. It mellows and sweetens as it is passed on and sung in new ways. 
Harsh contours are worn down, jagged edges smoothed. This is the case with "Three Grains of 
Corn.*' I have an 11848 original of the sheet music; it is long; it prolongs desolation beyond endur- 
ance or healthy art. The latter quality is not found in the variants known among midwest pioneers. 
Of several versions, the most appealing to me is one from the Frariz Rickaby collection, communicated 
by Mrs. C. A. Yoder of Bloomington, Indiana. I have gone to this song in certain moods and found 
it sickly with melancholy, not worth singing. Again, in other moods, I have gone to it and found it 
a gaunt little human drama with a melody carrying some of the tone color of dark, vivid Irish hearts. 







Give me three grains of corn, moth- er, On - ly three grains of corn. 'Twill 




keep this lit - tie life I have Till the com - ing of 



the 



morn. 



1 Give me three grains of corn, mother 
Only three grains of corn. 
'Twill keep what little life I have 
Till the coming of the morn. 

a For I'm dying of hunger and cold, mother 
Dying of hunger and cold, 
And the agony of such a death 
My lips have never told. 



5 Oh, how can I look to you, mother, 
Oh, how can I look to you 

For bread to feed your starving child 
When you are starving too? 

6 For I read the famine on your cheek 
And in your eyes so wild, 

And I felt it in your bony hand 
When you laid it on your child. 



3 Oh, what has old Ireland done, mother, 7 It has gnawed like a wolf at my heart, mother, 

Oh, what has old Ireland done, A wolf that was fierce for blood, 

That the world looks on and sees them starve, All the livelong day and the night beside, 
Perishing one by one? Gnawing for lack of food. 



4 There is many a brave heart, mother, 
That is dying of hunger and cold, 
While only across the channel, mother, 
Thousands are rolling their gold. 



8 I dreamed of bread in my sleep, mother, 
The sight was heaven to see. 
I awoke with an eager and famishing lip 
And you had no bread for me. 



KEVIN BARRY 



Tongues of love and hate, breaths of passion and suffering, all mingled with a strange bitter- 
sweet, are in this song out of the violent events in Ireland. Probably all wars and revolutions 
produce figures like Kevin Barry, though seldom do they have such adequate songs as memorials. 
In Nashville, Tennessee, one rnay look at the statue of Sam Davis, who died refusing to turn in- 
former and thus save his life. Davis has a statue in bronze; Kevin Barry has a song. These 
verses and their wistful, longing melody are from Irish boys and girls in "Chicago who learned the 
ballad on the Ould Sod. 

Arr. M. N. 




Ear - ly on a Mon- day morn- ing, High up - on the gal - lows tree, 







* -ffT 




T f ? 



-=^Es^==gEE:i 




Kev - in Bar - ry gave his young life For the cause of lib - er - ty. 




1 Early on a Monday morning, 
High upon the gallows tree, 
Kevin Barry gave his young life 
For the cause of liberty. 

2 Only a lad of eighteen summers, 
Still there's no one can deny, 

As he walked to death that morning 
Nobly held his head up high. 

3 Another martyr for old Ireland, 
Another murder for the crown, 
Brutal laws to crush the Irish 
Could not keep their spirits down. 



KEVIN BARRY 

4 Lads like Barry are no cowards. 
From their foes they do not fly; 
For their bravery always has been 
Ireland's cause to live or die. 

5 "Kevin Barry, do not leave us, 
On the scaffold you must die!" 
Cried his broken-hearted mother 
As she bade her son good-bye. 

6 Kevin turned to her in silence 
Saying, "Mother, do not weep, 
For it's all for dear old Ireland 
And it's all for freedom's sake." 

7 Just before he faced the hangman 
In his lonely prison cell, 

The Black and Tans tortured Barry, 
Just because he wouldn't tell 

8 The names of his brave comrades, 
And other things they wished to know. 
"Turn informer and we'll free you." 
But Kevin proudly answered "No! 

9 "Shoot me like a soldier. 
Do not hang me like a dog, 
For I fought to free old Ireland 
On that still September morn. 

10 "All around the little bakery 

Where we fought them hand to hand, 
Shoot me like a brave soldier, 
For I fought for Ireland." 




43 



THE SON OF A GAMBOLIER 

Misery with a light-hearted lilt .... a far-flung companion of roving men. 

. ' : , ' TIT 
[ 4-^4 




I'm a ram- bling wretch of pov - er - ty, from Tip 'ry town I came. Twas 
Refrain: Then corn-bine your hum-ble dit - ties as from tav-ern to tav-ern we steer; Like 




^ 



E35 



^5=^ 



*-= 



po - ver - ty com-pelled me first to go out in the rain ; 
ev - e - ry hon- est f el- low, I drinks my la-gerbeer; 



In all sorts of 
Like ev - 'ry hon- 











wea- ther, be it wet or be it dry, I am bound to get my live - li- hood, or 
est fel - low, I takes my whis-key clear, I'm a ram-bling wretch of pov -er - ty, and the 
D.C. REFRAIN (Conclusion of REFRAIN) s 

EEME^ 




lay me down and die. 
son of a gam-bo-lier. 



I'm a son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gam-bo - Her. 



1 I'm a rambling wretch of poverty, from Tip'ry town I carne. 
'Twas poverty compelled me first to go out in the rain; 

In all sorts of weather, be it wet or be it dry, 

I am bound to get my livelihood or lay me down and die. 

Refrain: 

Then combine your humble ditties as from tavern to tavern we steer; 
Like every honest fellow, I drinks my lager beer; 
Like every jolly fellow, I takes my whiskey clear, 
I'm a rambling wretch of poverty, and the son of a gambolier 
I'm the sou of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier. 

2 I once was tall and handsome, and was so very neat; 

They thought I was too good to live, most good enough to eat; 
But now I'm old my coat is torn, and poverty holds me fast. 
And every girl turns up her nose as I go wandering past. 

Refrain: 

3 I'm a rambling wretch of poverty, from Tip'ry town I came; 

My coat I bought from an old Jew shop way down in Maiden Lane; 

My hat I got from a sailor lad just eighteen years ago, 

And my shoes I picked from an old dust heap, which every one shunned but me! 

Refrain: 



MINSTREL SONGS 



HARMONIZATION BY PAGE 

I WISH I WAS SINGLE AGAIN Harry Gilbert 47 

WALKY-TALKY JENNY 48 

HAYSEED Alfred G. Wathall .... 50 

GOOD-BY LIZA JANE Alfred G. Wathall . . . . 51 

WIZARD OIL Henry Francis Parks ... 52 




46 



I WISH 1 WAS SINGLE AGAIN 



A lawyer with a larger divorce practice than he can handle conveniently tells us that half the 
time when divorced men marry again they pick the same kind of a wrong woman a second time. 
However that may be today, it seems that the minstrels of a generation past won wide popular 
success with a song voicing the troubles of a man who made the same mistake twice. The ditty 
spread to mountains and prairies. The version here is one that Edwin Ford Piper heard in Nebraska 
when a boy. 

Arr. H. G. 







333fes 



was sin - gle, then, then, When I 



was sin - gle, O 






it 



3^ 






sin - gle a - gain, a - gain, And I wish I was sin - gle a - gain. . . 



/ 




1 When I was single, then, then, 
When I was single, O then, 
When I was single, my money did jingle, 
I wish I was single again, again, 
And I wish I was single again. 

I married me a wife, then, O then, 
I married me a wife, O then, 
I married me a wife, she's the plague of my life 
And I wish I was single again, again, 
And I wish I was single again. 



3 My wife she died, then, then, 
My wife she died, O then, 

My wife she died, and then I cried, 
To think I was single again, again, 
To think I was single again. 

4 I married another, the devil's grandmother, 
I wish I was single again, 

For when I was single, my money did jingle, 
I wish I was single again, again, 
I wish I was single again. 



47 



WALKY-TALKY JENNY 

This has the saunter and the swagger of the southern mountaineers when they are having a 
luminous good time. Its style is comic rather than humorous; it has dangerous moods; its eyes 
have odd twinkles from under the hat brim; it says to the city slicker, "You all better looka out, 
we might be tellin' you to not let the sun go down on you hereabouts." This version of " Walky- 
Talky Jenny" came from H. Luke Stancil of Pickens County, Georgia. He wrote the verses and 
monologues on the porch of the Holden home in Athens, Georgia, a house which is the residence of 
a niece and grandriiece of Alexander Stephens. Long ago, perhaps before the Civil War, a min- 
strel troupe played one-night stands in the valley towns, performed with this song, and it was 
picked up by the mountaineers and made into what we have here. The mingling of comic bucolic 
monologue with song lines arid chorus was a minstrel feature. 







Yon- der comes dat ole Joe Brown,De big - ges' liar in town ; He eats more meat dan 




an - y man's dog, An' his belt won't reach a - roun'. O, walk- y - talk - y Jen-ny an* a 




hub- ble for your trou-ble, An' a walk - y - talk - y Jen -ny, I say ; O, walk- y - talk - y 







Jen-ny an' a hub-blc for your trou-blej'm a nig - ger from de state of Al - a- bam! 



Yonder comes dat ole Joe Brown, 
De bigges' liar in town; 
He eats more meat dan any man's dog, 
An* his belt won' reach aroun'. 

Sing Chorus 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a bubble for your trouble, 

An* a walky-talky Jenny, I say; 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a bubble for your trouble, 

I'm a nigger from de state of Alabam! 



48 



WALKY-TALKY JENNY 

I went down de road de udder day, I did, I did, so I did. When I got down dere I seed an ole 
man settin' on de bank o' de road, an* I says, " Hey ! ole man, what time is it?" He said, " 'Bout one 
o'clock," an' about dat time he knocked me down twice 'fore I could get up once. I said, "Ole 
man, I sho' would hate to pass yo' house 'bout twelve o'clock. If you eber do cross my path agin 
I'm gwine-a make you ..." 

Sing Chorus 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

An' a walky-talky Jenny, I say; 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

I'm a nigger from de state of Alabam! 

I went on down de road a little f udder, I did, I did, so I did. I got down dere an* I seed a great 
big fine house afire. Dat house sho' was a-burnin' up. I got up a little closer an' seed somebody 
settin' up on top o' dat air house. I got up a little closer an* seed it was ole Aunt Dinah. I says, 
" Ole gal, yo' sho' am in a mell of a hess. I wonder how yo' gwine to git down from dere." I got up 
a little closer an' stuck a plank up to de side o' de house an' said, "Ole gal, yo' slide down dat air 
plank!" Here she come, a-slidin' down into my arms. When she got down dere, she made a face 
at me. I says, "Ole gal, what am de matter wid you?" She says, "I don' know, mister, dere 
musta been a little nail in dat air plank, mighta scratched me a little as I come down." I says, 
"Ole gal, yo' de bigges* fool I eber did see. If you eber do cross my path agin, I'm gwine-a make 
you . . ." 

Sing Chorus 

0, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

An' a walky-talky Jenny, I say; 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

I'm a nigger from de state of Alabam! 

I went on down de road a little f udder, I did, I did, so I did. I went down in my corn patch 
to sec how my field was a-growin'. I got down dere an' along come a punkin runnin' along, an' he 
picked up a calf in his mouth an' trotted off wid it. I went back to de house an' dere stood my baby 
in de door wid my wife in her arms. I stood dere a few minutes an' here conie a little ole bark around 
de house a-doggin'. I put my pocket down in my hand, pulled out my tail an' cut his knife off. 
"Ole dog, if you eber do cross my path agin, I'm gwine-a make you . . ." 

Sing Chorus 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

An' a walky-talky Jenny, I say; 

O, walky-talky Jenny an' a hubble for your trouble, 

I'm a nigger from de state of Alabam! 



49 



HAYSEED 



The minstrels always enjoyed giving their audiences songs about the accidents and calamities 
that country people met with in the large cities. Out of many songs having to do with the ignorant 
ones who blew out the gas, and the adventures of "hayseeds" in the big city, we present one with 
a don't-eare tune. It is communicated by Mrs. William Pitt Abbott of Duluth, Minnesota. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

_ Waltz time 



A hayseed one day to himself did say," I've worked just a year and a minit." . . . 

m 




r 

mft leggiero 








LI r^ i* \ 



j 



=*- 



^ 










. 

cit - y he flew, his mon -ey he drew, This hay -seed was bound to be in it. . . . 






rrrrii 




m~~jK 1 



1 A hayseed one day to himself did say, 

" Fve worked just a year and a minit." 
To the city he flew, his money he drew, 
This hayseed was bound to be in it. 

2 He went to a hotel, he engaged him a room; 
It cost him five dollars a miriit. 

But he did not care, he had money to spare; 
This hayseed was bound to be in it. 

3 He went to his room, he blew out the gas, 
He pulled down the bed and got in it. 
Next morning at nine, in a coffin of pine 
This hayseed was strictly dead in it. 



m 



50 



GOOD-BY LIZA JANE 

When the Rutledge & Rogers mammoth and mastodonic circus travelled the mid-west many 
years ago, this minstrel song was on the program of its concerts. We give it here from the recollec- 
tion of C. W. Loutzenhiser of Chicago, who was a boy at the time. The drollery and the mathe- 
matics of the nonsense here will stand comparison with some of the best in "Alice in Wonderland." 
Also, with some of the worst in " Hostetter's Almanac." 

Arr - A - G. W. 



Moderate 




4t 



m 



Our horse fell down the well a- round be- hind the sta- ble, Well he did-n't fall clear 





down but he fell, fell, fell, fell,fell,fell, As far as he was a- ble. Oh f it's good-by Li- za Jane. 




_ * ft V 




1 Our horse fell down the well around behind the stable, 
Our horse fell down the well around behind the stable, 

Well he didn't fall clear down but he fell, fell, fell, fell, fell, fell, 
As far as he was able. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane. 

2 Our goose swallowed a snail, and his eyes stuck out with wonder, 
Our goose swallowed a snail, and his eyes stuck out with wonder, 
For the horns grew through his tail, tail, tail, tail, tail, tail, 

And bust it all asunder. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane. 

S My gal crossed the bridge, so she wouldn't get her feet wet, 
My gal crossed the bridge, so she wouldn't get her feet wet, 

Well she didn't cross the bridge, but she would, would, would, would, would, would, 
But the bridge it wasn't built yet. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane. 



WIZARD OIL 



Earlier than 1880 patent medicine men and their wagons were traveling. Kickapoo Indian 
Sagwa as a spring tonic and Kickapoo Snake Oil for rheumatism and neuralgia were bespoken and 
proclaimed by dancing and shouting Indians. The Wizard Oil remedies had their merits sung by 
slick-tongued comedians with banjos. Flaring gasoline lamps lighted their faces as the throngs 
surged about listening to the promises made to the sick, lame, sore. Harry E. Randall of San 
Diego, California, heard the Wizard Oil mountebanks in Illinois in the late 1870's, and the follow- 
ing is a text and air communicated through Neeta Marquis of Los Angeles, California. 

Arr. H. R P. 

Like a big city slicker 



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3 



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Oh! I love to trav - el far and near through-out my na-tive land; 







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I love to sell as I go 'long, and take the cash in hand. 





I love to cure all in dis - tress that hap - pen in my way, 





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WIZARD OIL 



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And you bet - ter be - lieve I feel quite fine when folks rush up and say 

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"TU take an-oth-er bot-tle of 



Oil, I'll take an- oth - er bot - tie or 



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two ; I'll take an-oth-er bottle of Wiz-ard Oil, I'll take anoth-er bottle or two." 

J=P | _^=^=t^ 



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I" 



Oh! I love to travel far and near throughout my native land; 
I love to sell as I go 'long, and take the cash in hand. 
I love to cure all in distress that happen in iny way, 
And you better believe I feel quite fine when folks rush up and say: 
Chorus: 

"I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two; 
I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two." 



i 



i 



53 



WIZARD OIL 

Now, listen to what I'm going to say, and don't you think I'm jesting 
When I tell you for your aches and pains that Wizard Oil's the best thing. 
It's healing and it's soothing, it's refreshing and it's thriving, 
The proof of which, wherever it's sold the people all are thriving. 

Spoken: 

That's so! Wherever Wizard Oil is used, the people always thrive. I never get up 
to sell the second time in a town but I'm interrupted by the sweet silvery voice of a 
young lady or the sonorous tones of a gentleman. They rush up to me with a half- 
dollar in their hands and soon I hear their sweet exclamations, which sound very 
much like: 

"I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two! 
I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two!" 

Once while selling 'way out West in the State of Illinois, 

The people all came running up to see what made the noise. 

The merchants laughed in their counting rooms, the farmers laughed a-hoeing. 

Amongst the rest a Dutchman came, a-puffing and a-blowing. 

Spoken: 

"Mein Gottin Himmel, vot a country und vot a peoples! Stab me in the back mit a 
double-barrelled bootjack, he's the same man I saw in Chicago last week ! I buys von 
bottle of oil of him, I takes him home, und py dam, he's good stuff! So ... 

"I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two! 
I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two!" 

Soon after this a lady came up, just fresh from the Em'rald Isle. 

Says she, "Mister, if you will, I'll spake wid you a while!" 

Says I, " Certainly, madam, don't be afraid. Let's hear what you have to say. 

Are you sick, or lame, or going blind, or what's the matter, I pray?" 

Spoken: 

"No, no, it's me husband, bad luck to the lazy divil! Divil the bit of work has he 
done for the past six months. He lies in bed till ten in the mornin', and I think your 
oil a profitable quality to pull the lazy divil out of bed. So ... 

"I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two! 
I'll take another bottle of Wizard Oil, 
I'll take another bottle or two! " 



TARNISHED LOVE TALES or COLONIAL AND 
REVOLUTIONARY ANTIQUES 



JIAUMON17ATION BY PAGE 

BARBRA ALLEN 57 

THE FROZEN GIRL 58 

PRETTY POLLY 60 

COMMON BILL Alfred G. Wathall .... 62 

LITTLE SCOTCH-EE 64 

THE HOUSE CARPENTER 66 

A PRETTY FAIR MAID Elizabeth Marshall ... 68 

LORD LOVEL 70 

THE QUAKER'S WOOING 71 

THE MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS 72 



It may be considered remarkable, that it was not till English literature had reached its highest 
point of refinement it was not until the days of Addison and Pope, or, still later, of Gray and 
Goldsmith that the rude ballad poetry of the people became an object of interest to the learned. 
In the Spectator , Addison first drew the attention of what was then called the "polite world" to 
the merits of the ballad of Chevy-Chase; but he did so in the apologetic strain of one who was 
fully prepared for the said world being surprised at him taking under his protection anything so 
vulgar, or even humble. He introduces the ballad much in the manner that the fastidious yet 
generous Guy Mannering may be supposed to have introduced to his lettered friends the hearty 
borderer, Dandie Dinmont, with his spattered jack-boots and shaggy drednought: there was no 
denying the rough and startling exterior, but many excellent qualities were to be found under it. 
Up to this time, the traditionary ballads of the country were held to be of so rude a character as 
to be scarcely amenable to the rules of literary criticism; no historical value seems to have been 
attached to them; and with the exception of some plodding Pepys, who, for his own gratification, 
stitched and preserved his "Penny Garlands," no endeavor was made to rescue them from the 
perishable breath of oral tradition, or the fragile security of the pedlar's broadside. 

ALEXANDER WIUTKLAW in Book of Scottish Ballads. 




The handing on of songs by oral tradition has become more and more curtailed. It is far from 
extinct, and it is not to be expected that it will ever completely die out from the human race; but 
with the spread of literacy, the increasing circulation of printed matter, the introduction of phono- 
graphs, and the removal of old-time isolation, through the agency of railroads, automobiles, and 
(in these days) of airplanes, the singing of traditional songs plays a lessened role. 

American folk-song as a whole has been imported from the Old World. This is becoming less 
true, but it still holds. Folk-songs are still brought across the Atlantic by newcomers; and a large 
percentage of the most striking and persistent pieces current in America are derived from Old 
World originals, English, Scottish, or Irish. Many survive which were brought over long ago, or 
they enter in new form with some shipload of immigrants. Songs recently imported still win foot- 
hold and then wander from community to community. 

LOUISE POUND in American Songs and Ballads. 



BARBRA ALLEN 

Hard-hearted Barbra Allen is a girl who figures in hundreds of ballads. In nearly all of them 
Willie dies for love of her and she, with a wasted heart, goes into the grave beside him. That is the 
story. But the last verse has a sequel. The rose rises from one grave, the briar from the other; 
the two climb to the top of the old church tower and there intertwine. So ends the story. It has 
been told and sung in hundreds of dialects. Usually the tune is stale, flat, monotonous. The one 
given here has long been a favorite of mine and the friend who gave it to me, H. L. Davis, the Oregon 
poet who came from the mountains of Georgia. The text is from the R. W. Gordon collection. 
Sometimes, in the singing of this song, I get the feel of old, gnarled, thornapple trees and white crab- 
apple blossoms printed momentarily on a blue sky, of evanescent things, of the paradox of tender 
and cruel forces operating together in life. Perhaps something of that paradox working in the hearts 
of people has kept the Barbra Allen story alive and singing through three centuries and more. 







in love withapret-ty young girl, Her name was Bar - bra Al - len. 



1 In London City where I once did dwell, there's where I got my learning, 
I fell in love with a pretty young girl, her name was Barbra Allen. 

2 I courted her for seven long years, she said she would not have me; 
Then straightway home as I could go and liken to a dying. 

3 I wrote her a letter on my death bed, I wrote it slow and moving; 
"Go take this letter to my old true love and tell her I am dying." 

4 She took the letter in her lily-white hand, she read it slow and moving; 
"Go take this letter back to him, and tell him I am coming." 

5 As she passed by his dying bed she saw his pale lips quivering; 
"No better, no better 1*11 ever be until I get Barbra Allen/' 

6 As she passed by his dying bed; "You're very sick and almost dying, 
No better, no better you will ever be, for you can't get Barbra Allen/* 

7 As she went down the long stair steps she heard the death bell toning, 
And every bell appeared to say, "Hard-hearted Barbra Allen!" 

8 As she went down the long piney walk she heard some small birds singing, 
And every bird appeared to say, "Hard-hearted Barbra Allen!" 

9 She looked to the East, she looked to the West, she saw the pale corpse coming 
"Go bring them pale corpse unto me, and let me gaze upon them. 

10 Oh, mama, mama, go make my bed, go make it soft and narrow! 
Sweet Willie died today for me, I'll die for him tomorrow!" 

11 They buried Sweet Willie in the old church yard, they buried Miss Barbra beside him; 
And out of his grave there sprang a red rose, and out of hers a briar. 

12 They grew to the top of the old church tower, they could not grow any higher, 
They hooked, they tied in a true love's knot, red rose around the briar. 

57 



THE FROZEN GIRL 

An old ballad is often like an old silver dagger or an old brass pistol; it is rusty, or greenish; 
it is ominous with ancient fates still operating today. Thus with Charlotte, who was worth looking 
at, who was very fair, who "laughed like a gypsy queen," we are told. The tarnished tale of her 
love and death on a winter night is to be found in the balladry of all the peoples of northern Europe. 
As a ballad it was born where nights are bitter cold in the hard winters. It is a puppet play, told 
instead of acted, but told in an easy narrative tune. The dramatic players are three: (1) Char- 
lottie, the heroine who dies; (2) Charles, who loves her; (3) the ruthless, icy weather. In America 
this is among ballads known in all the areas into which the English settlers spread; it is of mountain 
and prairie. The text here is from Isadora Bennett Read as heard in an isolated mountain region 
of Georgia; the tune is from Dr. James Lattimore Himrod of Chicago, author of "Johnny Apple- 
seed," who as a boy in southern Indiana heard his mother sing of "the frozen girl." Here and 
elsewhere it may be noted, the mountain people take priveleges with the King's English, especially 
in moments of stress and. distress. At that " monoment " may be a dramatic vocable as good as 
"monument." 



Andante 



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Char - lot - 
And yet, 


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on man 


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on a moun - tain top in a bleak and lone - ly 
- y a win - try night, young swains were gath - ered 




spot, There were no oth - er dwell-ings there ex- cept her fa - ther's cot. 
there; Her fa-therkept a so - cial board and she was ver -y fair. 

1 Charlottie liv'd on a mountain top in a bleak and lonely spot, 
There were no other dwellings there except her father's cot. 

And yet, on many a wintry night, young swains were gathered there; 
Her father kept a social board and she was very fair. 

2 On a New Year's Eve as the sun went down, far looked her wishful eye 
Out from the frosty win.dow pane as a merry sleigh dashed by. 

At a village fifteen miles away was to be a ball that night, 

And though the air was piercing cold her heart was warm and light. 

3 How brightly gleamed her laughing eye, as a well known voice she heard; 
And dashing up to the cottage door her lover's sleigh appeared. 

"Oh, daughter dear," her mother cried, "This blanket round you fold, 
Tonight is a dreadful one, you'll get your death of cold." 

4 "Oh, nay, oh nay!" Charlottie cried, as she laughed like a gypsy queen, 
"To ride in blankets muffled up I never would be seen; 

My silken cloak is quite enough, you know 'tis lined throughout, 
And there's my silken scarf to twine my head and neck about." 



THE FROZEN GIRL 

5 Her bonnet and her gloves were on, she leaped into the sleigh, 

And swiftly they sped down the mountain side and o'er the hills away. 

With muffled beat so silently five miles at length were passed, 

When Charles with a few and shivering words the silence broke at last. 



6 "Such a dreadful night, I never saw, the reins I scarce can hold," 
Charlottic faintly then replied, "I am exceeding cold/' 
He cracked his whip, he urged his steed much faster than before; 
And thus five other weary miles in silence were passed o'er. 



7 Said Charles: "How fast the shivering ice is gathering on my brow," 
And Charlott' then more faintly cried, "I'm growing warmer now." 
Thus on they rode through frosty air and the glittering cold starlight, 
Until at last the village lamps and the ballroom came in sight. 



8 They reached the door and Charles sprang out, he reached his hand to her, 
"Why set you there like a monoment that has no power to stir?" 
He called her once, he called her twice, she answered not a word; 
He asked her for her hands again, but still she never stirred. 



9 He took her hand in his, 'twas cold and hard as any stone; 
He tore the mantle from her face, the cold stars o'er it shone. 
Then quickly to the lighted hall her lifeless form he bore; 
Charlottie's eyes had closed for aye, her voice was heard no more. 



10 And there he sat down by her side, while bitter tears did flow 

And cried, "My own, my charming bride, 'tis you may never know." 

He twined his arms around her neck, he kissed her marble brow; 

His thoughts flew back to where she said, "I'm growing warmer now." 




PRETTY POLLY 

Murder is evil but what shall we say of six murders of young women for the sake of their "costly 
clothing "? We are told here and in ancient Scandinavian ballads of a man who drowned six women. 
But the seventh and last of his brides foiled him and sent him to his death. With all her strength 
she "pushed him into the sea" and that was his end. The piece is an ancient one, a Scottish text 
of it, "May Colvin," appearing in David Herd's collection published in 1776. In English ballad 
books and broadsides it has been variously titled "The Old Beau," "The Outlandish Knight," 
"False Sir John," and "May Colleen." It is heard in variants in nearly all the Appalachian regions. 
This version is from the R W. Gordon collection. 




" Go get me some of your fa - ther's gold And some of your moth - er's 

ifttz; 




too. 



And two of the fin - est hors - cs he has in his 



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For he 


has 


ten 


and thir - 


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and 


two." 





1 " Go get me some of your father's gold 
And some of your mother's too, 

And two of the finest horses he has in his stable, 
For he has ten and thirty and two." 

2 She got him some of her father's gold 
And some of her mother's too, 

And two of the finest horses he had in his stable, 
For he had ten and thirty and two. 

3 Then she jumped on the noble brown, 
And he on the dappled gray, 

And they rode till they came to the side of the sea, 
Two long hours before it was day. 

4 "Let me help you down, my Pretty Polly; 
Let me help you down," said he. 

"For it's six kings' daughters I have drowned here, 
And the seventh you shall be." 

5 "Now strip yourself, my Pretty Polly; 
Now strip yourself," said he; 

"Your clothing is too fine and over-costly 
To rot in the sand of the sea." 
60 



PRETTY POLLY 

6 "You turn your back to the leaves of the trees, 
And your face to the sands of the sea; 

Tis a pity such a false-hearted man as you 
A naked woman should see!" 

7 He turned his back to the leaves of the trees, 
And his face to the sand of the sea; 

And with all the strength that Pretty Polly had 
She pushed him into the sea. 

8 "Come, lend me your hand, my Pretty Polly; 
Come, lend me your hand," said he, 
"And I will be your waiting-boy, 

And will wait upon you night and day." 

9 "Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man! 
Lie there, lie there," said she; 

"As six kings' daughters you've drowned here, 
Then the seventh you shall be!" 

10 Then she jumped on the noble brown, 
And led the dappled gray, 

And rode till she came to her father's hall, 
Two long hours before it was day. 

11 Then up bespoke her Poll Parrot, 
Sitting in his cage so gay, 

"Why do you travel, rny Pretty Polly, 
So long before it is day?" 

12 Then up bespoke her old father, 
Lying in his room so gay, 

"Why do you chatter, my pretty parrot, 
So long before it is day?" 

13 "The cat was around and about ray cage, 
And I could not get it away 

So I called unto Miss Pretty Polly 
To drive the cat away." 

14 "Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot, 
Well turned, well turned for me; 

Thy cage shall be made of handbeaten gold, 
Thy door of the finest ivory." 



61 



COMMON BILL 

Women keep songs alive that men would let die. R. W. Gordon and others find "Common 
Bill" sung almost exclusively by women. It is not a man's song. The way of a maid with a man, 
the stratagems and maneuvers of women, their changing moods and fertile excuses are presented in 
the progress of this sketch dealing with Bill and the woman who was good to him, who could have 
been mean but who had mercy in her heart. Verses and melody here are from Mary O. Eddy and 

her neighbors of Perrysville, Ohio. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



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I will 


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have 

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Who is nei - ther white [nor yel - low, But is al - to - geth-er green; And his- 

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Bill, 


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COMMON BILL 






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wish - es me to wed him, But I hard - ly think I will. 





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1 I will tell you of a fellow, 

Of a fellow I have seen; 
Who is neither white nor yellow, 

But is altogether green; 
And his name it isn't charming, 

For it's only common Bill, 
And he wishes me to wed him, 

But I hardly think I will. 

2 He was here the other night, 

And he made so long a stay 
I began to think the gump-head 

Would never go away; 
Oh, he talked of devotion, 

Of devotion pure and bright, 
And don't you think the fool-killer 

He nearly stayed all night. 

3 And he wants me for to wed him, 

And the very deuce is in it, 
For he says if I refuse him 

He cannot live a minute; 
And you know the blessed Bible 

It teaches not to kill, 
And I've thought the matter over, 

And I guess I'll marry Bill. 



68 



LITTLE SCOTCH-EE 

The little drama presented here is as somber with groaning shadows as certain scenes from the 
plays of Shakespeare or those chapters in the Bible dealing with Samson and Delilah or the woman 
known as Jezebel. Sung deliberately and with understanding of its implications, delivered as a 
series of character roles and situations having contrast, it has the pride of an ancient tapestry, with 
gashes of knife thrusts and splotches of red that are on second look found to be dry blood. We are 
indebted for this text to Reed Smith of the University of South Carolina and his original work in 
"The Traditional Ballad and Its South Carolina Survivals," published by the Extension Division 
of the University of South Carolina. The ballad is hoary, of many variants, sometimes called 
" Young Hunting," known in America usually as "Lord Henry," "Love Henry," or "Loving Henry." 
This specimen of "The Old Scotch Well," or "Little Scotch-ee," is from Miss Tressie Pierce of Co- 
lumbia, South Carolina, who learned it in Alexander County, North Carolina. 




1. " Light, light, light, my lit - tie Scotch-ee, And stay all night with 

2. " I can - not light, and I will not light, And stay all night with 



.jr. ^ ^ * 




me; I have a bed of the ver - y, ver - y best, I'll give it up to 

thee; For there's a girl in the old Scotcli Yard, This night a - wait - ing for 



V 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 & S verses 







This night a - wait - ing for me." 



1 "Light, light, light, my little Scotch-ee, 

And stay all night with me; 
I have a bed of the very, very best, 
1*11 give it up to thee, 
I'll give it up to thee." 

2 " I cannot light, and I will not light, 

And stay all night with thee; 
For there's a girl in the old Scotch Yard, 
This night a-waiting for me, 
This night a-waiting for me." 

S "You cannot light, and you will not light, 

But from me you'll never part;" 
She took a pen-knife from her side, 
And pierced him in the heart, 
And pierced him in the heart. 

64 



. LITTLE SCOTCH-EE 

4 She called unto her little lady miss, 

"Come unto me I say; 
For there's a dead man in my bed, 
Come carry him away, 
Come carry him away." 



5 She called unto her little lady miss, 

"Count the hours, one, two, three; 
Are the chickens a-crowing for the middle of the night, 
Or are they a-crowing for day, 
Or are they a-crowing for day?" 



6 Some took him by the lily-white hand, 

Some took him by the feet, 
And threw him into a new-dug well, 
Some forty feet deep, 
Some forty feet deep. 



"Light, light, light, my little birdie, 

And settle on my knee; 
I have a cage of the very, very best, 

I'll give it up to thee, 

I'll give it up to thee." 



"I cannot light, and I will not light, 

And settle on your knee; 
For I'm afraid you will sarve me like you sarved 

Your little Scotch-ee, 

Your little Scotch-ee." 




65 



THE HOUSE CARPENTER 



This is among the hoary and tarnished keepsakes of the ballad world. In the days before 
there were daily newspapers, or even weekly "intelligencers/* schools were few, and people who 
could read and write were scarce. Then ballads flourished, and ballad singers were in every tavern 
where men drank ale, and in every hay or rye field where men gathered the crops. The House 
Carpenter, in style, story, method, has some of the leading characteristics of many of the 
oldest ballads. Of course, repeating the last two lines of every verse as indicated in the music here, 
is not necessary at all. Leave out the last two lines if you like, but don't forget that among antiques 
this song is as quaint to some of us as a mezzotint portrait in the lid of a snuff box of one of General 
Washington's staff officers. 




the 



salt, salt sea, And 'twas 







f& L_ 



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m 



on 



uc - count of thee; For I've had 



an 



of - fer of 



king's daugh-ter fair, 




had 



an 



a king's daughter fair, And she fain would have inar - ried me." 



1 "I have just come from the salt, salt sea, 

And 'twas all on account of thee; 
For I've had an offer of a king's daughter fair, 
And she fain would have married me." 
(Repeat the last two lines in each verse) 

"If you've had an offer of a king's daughter fair, 

I think you're much to blame; 
For I've lately been married to a house carpenter, 
And I think he's a nice young man." 

3 " If you'll forsake your house carpenter, 

And come along with me, 
I will take you to where the grass grows green, 
On the banks of Italy." 

4 "If I'd forsake my house carpenter, 

And go along with you, 

And you'd have nothing to support me upon, 
Oh, then what would I do?" 
66 



THE HOUSE CARPENTER 

5 "I have three ships upon the main, 

All sailing for dry land, 
And twenty-five jolly sailor lads 
That you can have at your command." 

6 She dressed herself in rich array, 

AH from her golden store, 
And as she walked the streets all 'round, 
She shone like a glittering star. 

7 She called her baby unto her, 

And gave it kisses three, 

Saying, "Stay at home, my pretty little babe, 
And be your father's company/* 

8 We had not sailed more than two weeks, 

I'm sure it was not three, 
Till this fair maid began to weep, 
And she wept most bitterly. 

9 "Oh, why do you weep, my pretty maid? 

Do you weep for your golden store, 
Or do you weep for your house carpenter 
Which you never shall see any more?" 

10 "I do not weep for my house carpenter, 

Or for my golden store, 
But I do weep for my pretty little babe 
Which I never shall see any more." 

11 We had not sailed more than three weeks, 

I'm sure it was not four, 
Till our gallant ship she sprang a leak, 
And she sank to rise no more. 

12 Once around went our gallant ship, 

Twice around went she, 
Three limes around went our gallant ship, 
And she sank to the bottom of the sea. 

13 Oh, cursed be the sea-going train, 

And all the sailors' lives, 
For the robbing of the house carpenter, 
And the taking away of his wife. 



A PRETTY FAIR MAID 



Occasionally the verses of a song make a good story if only read, and not sung at all. In the 
case of "A Pretty Fair Maid" there is a whimsically sweet air going with an oddly spoken story. 
What lively, old, old-fashioned gossip we have here! 

A * Arr. E. M. 

Moderato 



A pret - ty fair maid all in a 

~ r ~i ^ 




* ^^pZ^^ 




I ' 



gar - den, A sail - or boy came pass - ing by; lie stepped a - 










side and thus ad-dressed her, Say - ing/'Pret-ty fair maid,won't you be my bride?'* 

7 T _^ j 






-\ 








== 









68 



A PRETTY FAIR MAID 

1 A pretty fair maid all in a garden, 

A sailor boy came passing by; 
He stepped aside and thus addressed her, 

Saying, "Pretty fair maid, won't you be my bride?" 

2 "I have a sweetheart on the ocean, 

For seven long years has been to sea, 
And if he stays for seven years longer 
No other man shall marry me." 

8 " Perhaps your sweetheart he is drown ded, 

Perhaps he's in some battle slain, 
Perhaps he's to some pretty girl married, 
And he shall ne'er return again." 

4 "Oh! if my sweetheart he is drownded, 

Or if he's in some battle slain, 
Or if he's to some pretty girl married, 
I'll love the girl that married him." 

5 "My sweetheart he is neither drownded 

Nor is he in some battle slain, 
Nor is he to some pretty girl married, 
For he is by my side again." 

6 He put his hands in both his pockets, 

His fingers they were long and slirn, 
And unto me he drew a gold locket, 
And to my feet his knees did bend. 

7 "I have six ships all on the ocean, 

And they are loaded to the brim, 
And if I'm worthy of such a young lady, 
I care not if they sink or swirn." 




69 



LORD LOVEL 

Among the most widespread ballads in the United States is "Lord Lovel." The version here 
is from the collection of Reed Smith of the University of South Carolina; the melody is from W. R. 
Dehon and the text from Caroline S. Dickinson. The mood and way of this song is peculiar. It 
is to be sung and not read. Why this is so, Mr. Smith explains in this note: "'Lord Lovcl' clearly 
shows how necessary it is to deal with ballads as songs and not merely as poems. The text of 'Lord 
Lovel' is sad and mournful. The tune, however, is lilting and rollicking, and with the triple repe- 
tition of the last word of the fourth line, turns the tear into a smile. The difference between reading 
it as a poem and singing it as a song is the difference between tragedy and comedy." 



3^^E^F2EEE 
-^^^ dbEEiz^S- 




comb -ing his milk-white steed; When a - long came La - dy Nan- cy Bell, A - 




wish- ing her lov - er good speed,speed,speed, A - wish- ing her lov - cr good speed. 



1 Lord Lovcl he stood at his castle gate, 

A-combing his milk-white steed; 
When along came Lady Nancy Bell, 

A- wishing her lover good speed, speed, 

speed, 
A-wishing her lover good speed. 

2 "Oh where are you going, Lord Lovel?" she 

said; 

"Oh where are you going?" said she. 
"I'm going, my dear Lady Nancy Bell, 
Strange countries for to see, see, see, 
Strange countries for to see." 

3 "When will you be back, Lord Lovel?" she 

said; 

"When will you be back?" said she. 
"In a year or two or three at the most 
I'll return to my Lady Nancee-cee, cee, 
I'll return to rny Lady Nancec." 

4 He'd not been gone but a year and a day, 

Strange countries for to see, 
When languishing thoughts came into his 

mind 
Lady Nancy Bell he would see. 

5 He rode and he rode on his milk-white steed, 

Till he reached fair London Town; 



And there he heard St. Varney's bell 
And the people all mourning around. 

6 "Is any one dead?" Lord Lovcl he said; 

"Is any one dead?" said he. 
"A lady is dead," the people all said, 
"And they call her Lady Nancy." 

7 He ordered the grave to be opened forthwith, 

The shroud to be folded down; 
And then he kissed her clay-cold lips 
Till the tears came trickling down. 

8 Lady Nancy she died as it might be today, 

Lord Lovel he died tomorrow. 
Lady Nancy she died of pure, pure grief, 
Lord Lovel he died of sorrow. 

9 Lady Nancy was laid in St. Clement's 

churchyard, 

Lord Lovcl was buried close by her; 
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose, 

And out of his backbone a briar. 
10 They grew and they grew on the old church 

tower, 

Till they couldn't grow up any higher; 
And there they tied in a true lover's knot, 
For all true lovers to admire. 



70 



THE QUAKER'S WOOING 



The Quakers were ever a stubborn people of sweet ways and deep faiths. The men wore 
black hats with broad brims, the women wore black bonnets with white facings. Their love-making 
may have had some of the rich though simple tinting in this old English tune and verses. Something 
about it is as genuine as the wood grain of an unvarnished, black walnut, four-post bed. This 
comes from Miss Harriet Louise Abbott of Bethel, Ohio, as communicated to Mary O. Eddy. 




_ ii r i 

3EE5fe4^feE 



had a true love but she left me, 



Oh, oh, oh, oh, And 




feEEESES 



m 



now am bro - ken heart-cd, 



Oh, oh, oh, oh/" 4 Well, if she's gone I would-n't 







mind her, .. Fol de rol de hey ding di do, You'll soon find one that'll 






^ 

^riftf* 







prove much kind- er, Fol dc rol dc hey ding day. 

1 "I had a true love but she left me, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, 
And I now am broken-hearted, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh." 
"Well, if she's gone I wouldn't mind her, 

Fol de rol de hey ding di do. 
You'll soon find one that'll prove much kinder, 

Fol de rol de hey ding day." 

2 "I've a house and forty servants, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, 
And thcc may be the mistress of them, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh." 
"I'll not do your scolding for you, 

Fol de rol dc hey ding di do, 
'Deed I feel myself above you, 

Fol de rol de hey <Jing day." 

3 "I've a ring worth twenty shillings, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh, 
And thee may wear it, if thee's willing, 

Oh, oh, oh, oh." 
"What care I for rings or money, 

Fol de rol de hey ding di do, 
I'm for the man who calls me honey, 

Fol de rol de hey ding day." 
71 



T J:I 



I've a) 





THE MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS 

One time long ago, it seems, the law came down on a young woman. And she was to be hanged. 
And her father came, her mother, her brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cousins. Yet not one would help 
her with gold or fee. They all wanted her hanged. Then came her true love and he freed her from 
the gallows; he slacked the hangman's rope. So goes the story. We do not know just how many 
centuries it has been going. The text and tune here are from the admirable Reed Smith Ballads 
published by the University of South Carolina. 





" Slack your rope, hangs - a-man, slack it for a - while; I think I see my 
fa-ther com-ing, Rid -ing man-y a mile." " O fa - ther, have you brought me gold ?> 







Or have you paid my fee ? Or have you come to see me hang- ing 





On the gal-lows tree ? " " I have not brought you gold; I have not paid yoiu 




fee; But I have come to see you hang-ing On the gal -lows tree." 



"Slack your rope, hangs-a-man, 

slack it for a while; 

I think I see my father coming, 

Riding many a mile." 
"O father, have you brought me gold? 

Or have you paid ray fee? 
Or have you come to see me hanging 

On the gallows-tree?" 
"I have not brought you gold; 

1 have not paid your fee; 

But I have come to sec you hanging 
On the gallows-tree." 

"Slack your rope, hangs-a-man, 

slack it for a while; 
I think I see my mother coming, 

Riding many ajnile." 
"O mother, have you brought me gold? 

Or have you paid my fee? 
Or have you come to see me hanging 



On the gallows-tree?" 
"I have not brought you gold; 

I have not paid your fee; 
But I have come to see you hanging 

On the gallows-tree/' 

(And so on for brother, sister, aunt, uncle, 
cousin, etc.) 

3 "Slack your rope, hangs-a-man, 

slack it for a while; 
I think I see my true-love coming 

Riding many a mile." 
"O true-love, have you brought me gold? 

Or have you paid rny fee? 
Or have you come to sec me hanging 

On the gallows-tree?" 
"Yes, I have brought you gold; 

Yes, I have paid your fee; 
Nor have I come to see you hanging 

On the gallows-tree." 



FRANKIE AND HER MAN 



HARMONIZATION BY PAGE 

FRANKIE AND ALBERT Edward ColllHS .... 75 

FRANKIE AND JOHNNY Edward Collins .... 78 

FRANKIE BLUES Edward Collins .... 82 

JOSIE Alfred G. Wathall .... 84 

BADIE 86 



73 




FRANKIE AND ALBERT 

A Frankie song is like a grand opera role; interpretations vary. The Leighton brothers run 
a gamut of emotions; John Lomax delivers a quizzically mournful monotone; Sig Spaeth vocalizes 
it like a gnome riding a gnu with gnats mellifluously. The maxim, "Life is a tragedy to those 
who feel, a comedy to those who think," may go for viewpoints on this ballad. It is stark and fierce, 
it is serio-comic, or it is blah-blah as you like it. 

If America has a classical gutter song, it is the one that tells of Frankie and her man. Josie, 
Sadie, Lillie, Annie, are a few of her aliases; she has many. Prof. II. M. Belden of the University 
of Missouri showed me sixteen Frankie songs, all having the same story though a few are located in 
the back country and in bayous instead of the big city. Then I met up with R. W. Gordon; he has 
110 Frankie songs, and is still picking up new ones. R. Emmett Kennedy in his remarkably thorough 
and valuable book, "Mellows" has a song, "My Baby in a Guinea Blue Gown," which belongs in 
the Frankie discussion because its tune may have been the grandfather of the most widely known 
Frankie melodies. The Frankie and Albert song, as partly given here, was common along the 
Mississippi river and among~railroad men of the middle west as early as 1888. It is a simple and 
mournful air, of the short and simple annals of the poor. The Frankie and Johnny song is of later 
development, with notes of violence and flashes of exasperation. The Frankie Blues came still 
later, and with its "blue" notes is, of course, "meaner" as a song. In many colleges are groups 
who sing Frankie songs in ragtime manner, with lackadaisical verses. As our American culture 
advances, it may be that classes will take up the Frankie songs as seriously as a play by Molicre or 
a Restoration comedy or the Provencal ballads of France. It may be said that the Frankie songs, 
at best, are an American parallel of certain European ballads of low life, that are rendered by impor- 
tant musical artists from the Continent for enthusiastic audiences in Carnegie Hall, New York, or 
Orchestra Hall, Chicago. Some day, perhaps, we may arrive at a better common understanding 
of our own art resources and how to use them. While the Frankie story deals with crime, violence, 
murder, adultery, its percentage in these respects is a good deal less than in the average grand opera. 

Lastly, for those about to sing this piece, we should note that in several places, in San Francisco, 
Omaha, Fort Worth, Fort Smith, Fort Scott and Dubuque the verse about the man under the doctor's 
care crying, "Roll me over easy," or "Turn me over, doctor," has no tune; all present joining in a 
wide, wild, disconnected wailing. Also, we note, by alternating the names of Albert and Johnny, 
or Frankie, Josie, Sadie, any verse of any song goes for all. The air of version II of Frankie and 
Johnny, carries all the verses of version I, except that the repeat, " so wrong " isn't used. While 
it may seem a discrepancy that Frankie, threatened with the electric chair, ends her days on the 
gallows, it should also be understood that several versions of the song picture her starting to join 
a county chain gang, wearing a ball and chain attached to one of her ankles. 



FRANKIE AND ALBERT 



Air. E. C. 






aa 



Frankie and Albert were sweethearts,e v 'ry - bod-y 








iS 



^E^ 



#= 



- 



knows, 



Frank-ie spent a hun-dred dol - lars just to get her man some 







clothes ; He was her man, but he done her wrong. 




poco marcato 



g^^^S^^SSS^ ; 

d | ^ <J*h_ ^^~^~~^ I ~*-m eJ ' r~t" g^ 

f^^^j^^g^ 



1 Frankie and Albert were sweethearts, everybody knows, 
Frankie spent a hundred dollars just to get her man some clothes; 

He was her man, but he done her wrong. 

2 Frankie went down to the corner, took along a can, 

Says to the lovin' bartender, "Has you seen my lovin' man? 
He is my man, but he's doin* me wrong." 

76 



FRANKIE AND ALBERT 



S "Well, I ain't gonna tell you no story, ain't gonna tell you no lie, 

Albert went by 'bout an hour ago, with a girl called Alice Fry; 

He was your man, but he's doin' you wrong." 

4 Frankie's gone from the corner, Frankie ain't gone for fun, 
Underneath her apron she's got Albert's gatlin' gun; 

He was her man, but he done her wrong. 

5 Albert sees Frankie comin', out the back door he did scoot, 
Frankie pulled out the pistol, went roota-de-toot-toot-toot. 

He was her man, but she shot him down. 

6 Frankie shot him once, Frankie shot him twice, 
Third time that she shot him the bullet took his life; 

He was her man, but he done her wrong. 

7 When Frankie shot Albert, he fell down on his knees, 
Looked up at her and said, "Oh, Frankie, please, 

Don't shoot me no ino', don't shoot me no mo'." 

8 "Oh, turn me over, doctor; turn me over slow, 

Turn me over on my right side, 'cause the bullet am hurtin' me so 
I was her man, but I done her wrong." 

9 Now it's rubber-tired carriages, decorated hack, 

Eleven men went to the graveyard, and only ten come back: 
He was her man, but he's dead and gone. 

10 Frankie was a-standin' on the corner, watchin' de hearse go by, 
Throwed her arms into the air, "Oh, let me lie 

By the side of my man, what done me wrong." 

11 Frankie went to the graveyard, bowed down on her knees, 
"Speak one word to me, Albert, an' give my heart some ease. 

You was my man, but I done you wrong." 

12 Sheriff arrested Frankie, took her to the county jail, 
Locked her up in a dungeon cell, and throwcd the keys away. 

She shot her man, said he done her wrong. 

13 Judge tried liF Frankie, under an electric fan; 

Judge says, "Yo' free woman now, go kill yourself anothah man. 
He was yo* man, now he's dead an' gone." 



77 



FRANK1E AND JOHNNY 



Arr. E. C. 



^M=j= 



Frank-ie and John -ny were lov - ers, . O lord-y how they could love. 




sH 



5 



fed 



cresc. 



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g=g- 



Swore to be true to each oth - er, 
8 

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true as the stars a - 



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cre^c. 



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bove; I 


[e was he 


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man 


but he done her 

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wrong, 

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so 

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wrong. 


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78 



n 



FRANKIE AND JOHNNY 



-T* h J J J 1* i ; 


p pr p |S zq 


:gn j r * r^.* 1 i J 3 ^- j r * ^^ *- j 

Frank -ie and John - ny were lov - ers, O lord - y how they could 


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m s 




_^k ^ j J! J mL [ | *: 


iztf P f 


-t^ b^ 


love. They swore to be true to each oth - er, true as the 


stars a - bove; He was her man 


but he done her i 


H 

ivrong. 



1 Frankie and Johnny were lovers, O lordy how they could love. 
Swore to be true to each other, true as the stars above; 

He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

2 Johnny's mother told him, and she was mighty wise, 
Don't spend Frankie's money on that parlor Ann Eliz; 
You're Frankie's man, and you're doin' her wrong, so wrong. 

3 Frankie and Johnny went walking, Johnny in his bran' new suit, 
"0 good Lawd," says Frankie, "Don't my Johnny look cute?" 
He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

4 Frankie went down to the corner, to buy a glass of beer; 

She says to the fat bartender, "Has niy lovinest man been here? 
He was my man but he's done me wrong, so wrong." 

5 Frankie went down to the pawn shop, she bought herself a little forty-four 
She aimed it at the ceiling, shot a big hole in the floor; 

"Where is my man, he's doin' me wrong, so wrong?" 

6 Frankie went back to the hotel, she didn't go there for fun, 
'Cause under her long red kimono she toted a forty -four gun. 
He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

7 Frankie went down to the hotel, looked in the window so high, 
There she saw her lovin' Johnny a-lovin' up Alice Bly; 

He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

8 Frankie went down to the hotel, she rang that hotel bell, 
"Stand back all of you floozies or I'll blow you all to hell, 
I want my man, he's doin' me wrong, so wrong." 



FRANKIE AND JOHNNY 

9 Frankie threw back her kimono, she took out her forty-four. 

Root-a-toot-toot, three times she shot, right through that hardwood floor, 
She shot her man, 'cause he done her wrong, so wrong. 

10 Johnny grabbed off his Stetson, "O good Lawd, Frankie, don't shoot." 
But Frankie put her finger on the trigger, and the gun went roota-toot-toot, 
He was her man but she shot him down. 

11 Johnny saw Frankie a comin', down the backstairs he did scoot; 
Frankie had the little gun out, let him have it rooty -de-toot; 
For he was her man, but she shot him down. 

12 Johnny he mounted the staircase, cried, "O Frankie don't shoot!" 
Three times she pulled the forty-four gun a rooty-toot-toot-toot-toot, 
She nailed the man what threw her down. 

13 "Roll me over easy, roll me over slow, 

Roll me over easy, boys, 'cause my wounds they hurt me so, 
But I was her man, and I done her wrong, so wrong." 

14 "Oh my baby, kiss me once before I go. 

Turn me over on my right side, doctor, where de bullet hurt me so. 
I was her man but I done her wrong, so wrong." 

15 Johnny he was a gambler, he gambled for the gain. 

The very last words he ever said were, "High-low Jack and the game." 
He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

16 Bring out your long black coffin, bring out your funeral clo'es; 
Bring back Johnny's mother; to the churchyard Johnny goes. 
He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

17 Frankie went to his coffin, she looked down on his face. 

She said, "O Lawd, have mercy on me, I wish I could take his place, 
He was my man, and I done him wrong, so wrong." 

18 Oh bring on your rubber-tired hearses, bring on your rubber-tired hacks, 
They're takin' Johnny to the buryin* groun* an' they won't bring a bit of him back; 
He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

19 Frankie stood on the corner to watch the funeral go by; 

"Bring back my poor dead Johnny to me," to the undertaker she did say, 
"He was my man, but he done me wrong, so wrong." 

20 Frankie heard a rumbling away down in the ground, 
Maybe it was little Johnny where she had shot him down. 
He was her man and she done him wrong, so wrong. 

80 



FRANKIE AND JOHNNY 

21 Frankie went to Mrs. Halcomb, she fell down on her knees, 
She said, "Mrs. Halcomb, forgive me, forgive me, if you please, 
For I've killed my man what done me wrong, so wrong." 

22 "Forgive you, Frankie darling, forgive you I never can. 
Forgive you, Frankie darling, for killing your only man, 
Oh he was your man tho' he done you wrong, so wrong." 

23 Frankie said to the warden, "What are they goin' to do?" 
The warden he said to Frankie, "It's the electric chair for you, 
You shot your man tho' he done you wrong, so wrong." 

24 The sheriff came around in the morning, said it was all for the best, 
He said her lover Johnny was nothin* but a doggone pest. 

He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

25 The judge said to the jury, "It's as plain as plain can be; 
This woman shot her lover, it's murder in the second degree, 
He was her man tho' he done her wrong, so wrong." 

26 Now it was not murder in the second degree, and was not murder in the third, 
The woman simply dropped her man, like a hunter drops a bird. 

He was her man but he done her wrong, so wrong. 

27 "Oh bring a thousand policemen, bring 'em around today, 
Oh lock me in. that dungeon, and throw the keys away, 

I shot my man, 'cause he done me wrong, so wrong." 

28 "Yes, put me in that dungeon, oh put me in that cell, 

Put me where the northeast wind blows from the southeast corner of hell. 
I shot my man, 'cause he done me wrong, so wrong." 

29 Frankie mounted to the scaffold as calm as a girl can be, 

And turning her eyes to heaven, she said, "Good Lord, I am coming to Thee. 
He was my man, but he done me wrong, so wrong." 




81 



FRANKIE BLUES 



Not fant 



Arr. E. C. 




/ 



1 -If J\J 

Frank - ir WHS a #ood worn - an, . Kv - Vy ho- dy knows, 



Gave 



f> 




/ 



f f= 
.U- L 



rip 



- - r - ^-t--S:lii^rE^: 



for - ty-oiu dol - lars to buy Al - hert A suit of clothes; 













FRANKIE ELITES 



slower 




"Yes, he's my man, but he done me wrong." . . . 



^* * I ^* "^ 





1 Frankie was a good woman, 
Everybody knows, 

Gave forty-one dollars to buy Albert 

A suit of clothes: 

"Yes, he's my man, but lie done me wrong." 

2 Frankie went to the corner, 
Took a forty-four gun, 

Shot her Albert a-rooty-ti-toot, 

And away he tried to run: 

"He was my man, but he done me wrong." 

3 "Roll me over easy, 
Roll me over slow, 

Roll rue over on my right side, 

'Cause the bullet hurt me so; 

I was your man, but I done you wrong." 

4 Frankie sit in a parlor, 
Cool herself with a fan, 

Tell all the other women and girls, 

"Don't trust any doggone man, 

He'll do you wrong, he'll do you wrong." 




83 



JOSIE 



The restless sons of Man in tfie mountains of Kentucky sometimes descend to the plains and 
live in the big cities, in the centers of wickedness, in the tents of the ungodly, where night is turned 
into day by the bright lights. When they go back to the mountains sometimes they have songs 
their lips have learned in strange places. Perhaps one of the children of the mountains learned a 
Frankic song in one of the cities and brought it back to the mountains where the name of the heroine 
was changed to Josie. Or, perhaps, it was in the mountains that the first Frankie song was born 
and the name of the leading character was Josie and it was in the city that her name was changed. 
When the song history of America is definitively written, we shall know about these things. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



; 




Jo - sic she's a good girl, as cv - 'ry-bod-y knows, She gave onehun-dred 



': I -3 




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U 



dol - lars for an i - vo - ry suit of clothes;"IIe is my man, 




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II 



but he won't come home/* 



\ ^ *- -f-_ m _. 

^--i^t "-W * i 
J>_. i_j _.fi_- p_ 





JOSIE 

1 Josie she's a good girl, as everybody knows, 

She gave one hundred dollars for an ivory suit of clothes; 
"He is iny man, but he won't come home/' 

2 She went down the street as far as I could see, 

And every band that she passed by played "Nearer My God to Thee," 
"Oh, he's my man, but he won't come home." 

3 She went down the street, a revolver in her hand, 

Saying, "Stand back, gents and ladies; I'm searching for my man, 
Oh, he's my man, but he won't come home." 

4 She stepped into the barroom, and there her husband stood, 
She drew her revolver from her side and shot him thru and thru; 
"He's my man, but he wouldn't come home." 

5 She went down to the jail-house, keys all in her hand, 
Saying, "Here, Mr. Jailer, lock me up, for I've shot my man; 
He's my man, but he wouldn't come home." 

6 One thing hurt Mrs. Josie, one thing made her cry, 

Standing there in the courthouse door when the hurst (hearse) came rolling by; 
""Oh, he's my man, but he wouldn't come home." 

7 " I'm not going to wear no mourning, not going to wear no black, 
But I'll go down to the graveyard and bring my Iva back; 

Oh, he's my man, but he done me wrong." 

8 She went down to the graveyard and fell down on her knees, 
And prayed to the Lord in heaven to send her heart some ease; 
"Oh, he's my man, but he wouldn't come home." 

9 Sitting in the parlor by an electric fan, 

Pleading with the youngest girl never to marry a gambling man; 
"Hell be your man, but he'll not conic home." 




80 



SADIE 

This is a woman's version of the old story of Frankie and her man. Six young women from 
six old cities sang it at White Lake, Michigan. They wrap Sadie in a "sky-blue kimono." They 
have Sadie kill her man, he is hauled to the graveyard, and that's all. No arrest, no murder trial, 
neither acquittal nor execution. Text and tune here are from Julia Peterson of Ann Arbor. 




Srnl - io went in - to the bar -room, and she ordered up a big glass of beer. 




-F 



She said/ 4 Tell me the truth, Mis - ter Bar - ten-der, has my Hen - ry Brown been 




... _.._^ . . .. 

^ _ *_ *h .&-- 41* * * --:>-_ .. -rr L<3 -J / -z^=r^b^T 



herc? 'Cause he's my man, . . and he's do - in' me wrong, he won't come home." 



1 Sadie went into the bar-room, and she ordered up a big glass of beer. 
She said, "Tell mo the truth, Mister Bartender, has my Henry Brown been here? 
'Cause he's my man, and he's doin' me wrong, he won't come home." 

"Well I ain't goin' to toll you no secrets, and I ain't goiii* to toll you no lies, 
But 1 saw Henry Brown just a moment ago, and I could hardly b'lieve my eyes, 
'Cause he's your man, what's been doin' you wrong, he won't come home." 

3 Sadie drank up all her beer, and she ordered up a big glass of gin, 

She said, "Ain't it a shame. Mister Bartender, that I've a-takin' to drinkin* again, 
On account of my man, what's a-doin' me wrong, he wouldn't come home." 

4 Sadie went up a dark alloy, and she didn't go up there for fun, 
For under her sky-blue kimono, she had a great big forty-four gun, 

On account of her man, what was doin' her wrong, he wouldn't come home. 

5 "Roll me over easy, now roll me over slow, 

Oh, roll me over on my right side because my left side hurts me so, 
4 Cause Fin Sadie's man, what's a done her wrong, 1 wouldn't come home." 

They hauled out the rubber-tired carriage, and they hauled out the rubber-tired hack, 
They were haulin* a guy to the grave-yard, and they weren't gonna haul him back, 
He was Sadie's man, that had done her wrong, he wouldn't come home. 



PIONEER MEMORIES 



HARMONIZATION HY PAGE 

THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY Alfred G. Wathdll .... HI) 

WHERE o WHERE is OLD ELIJAH? Leo Sincerity 0* 

TURKEY IN THE STRAW Leo Soicerby 04 

WHO WILL SHOE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FOOT? . . . Leo SoiCCrbi/ 08 

THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL 08 

FAIR ANNIE OF LOCH YUAN 00 

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY 100 

OLD GRAY MARE Alfred 0. Watluill .... 10* 

THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM Jlennj Louis Mencken . . .104 

WHAT WAS YOUR NAME IN THE STATES? .... Hazel Ft'Imutl . . . .100 

SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE 107 

CALIFORNIA Marion Lyehenhcini . . . 110 

THE BANKS OF SACRAMENTO 114 

MONEY 11* 

THE MONKEY'S WEDDING 113 

ROSIE NELL Alfred (i. Wdtlnill . . . .114 

CHICKEN REEL 116 

HANGING OUT THE LINEN CLOTHES Marlon Lyelienheini . . . 117 

DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN Henry Fruneis Parks . . . 118 

THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR 1^0 



87 



HONOUR TO PIONEERS WHO BROKE ROD THAT 
MKN TO COME MUJHT LIVE. 

Inscription from state capitol building at 
L in col n , Nebraska 



TO THE STARS BY HARD WAYS. 

Motto adopted by the State of Kansas 



IOWA THE AFFECTIONS OF HER PEOPLE, LIKE 
THE RIVERS OF HER BORDERS, FLOW ON TO AN 
INSEPARABLE UNION. 

Inscription from the state capitol 
building at Des Aloincs, Iowa 



THE COWARDS NEVER STARTED AND THE WEAK 
ONES DIED BY THE WAY. 

Slot/an of the Society of California 



88 



THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY 



A little girl from western Nebraska, home again after a trip to the East, was asked, "What is 
the East?" She answered, "The East is where trees come between you and the sky." Early 
settlers noticed log cabins were scarcer as timber land thinned out going farther west. On the 
windy, open prairies of the Great Plains, the best house to be had in short order was of sod. A 
cellar was dug first; long slices of turf were piled around the cellar lines; wooden crosspoles held the 
sod roof. Ceilings went high or low: tall men put roofs farther from the ground than short men 
did. In timber country farther east they sang The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane; its tune was 
familiar to the lonely "sodbuster" who made this song about his dwelling in a region where 
rivers are sometimes a half mile wide and a half inch deep. 

Arr. A. G. W. 
Moderate, semplice 




seed - y now while hold-ing down my 
no - vel - ty of liv-ing in this 



rS- -;<?_d 



claim, And my 
way,Though my 








vict-uals are not al-ways of the 
bill of fare is al -ways rath - er 



best; 
tame, 



m 

And the mire play shy - ly 
But I'm hap - py as a 







round me as I nes - tie down to rest, In my lit - tie old sod shan-ty in the 

clam on the land of Un - cle Sam, In my lit - tie old sod shan-ty on my 

r"^ T^- T J r*^u-4~ i r j- 

! , i 



THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY 



IT" 



REFIAIV 



West. 



claim. 



) 






. ^Vtej 



The hing - es are of 



feE^OZJW^ 

. _E*_' '.__'"_ Jt !rt~" " ~r"*^ 



^ 



leath <T and the win -dows have no glass, While the board roof lets the 









howl - ing hliz-zards in, .... And I hear the him - gry ki - yote as he 





f 








slinks up through the grass,Round my lit - tie old sod shan -ty on my claim. . . 








00 



THE LITTLE OLD SOD SHANTY 

1 I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim, 
And my victuals are not always of the best; 

And the mice play shyly round me as I nestle down to rest, 

In my little old sod shanty in the West. 

Yet I rather like the novelty of living in this way, 

Though my bill of fare is always rather tanie, 

But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam, 

In my little old sod shanty on my claim. 

Refrain: 

The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass, 

While the board roof lets the howling blizzards in, 

And I hear the hungry kiyote as he slinks up through the grass, 

Round my little old sod shanty on my claim. 

2 when I left my eastern home, a bachelor so gay, 
To try and win my way to wealth and fame, 

I little thought that I'd come down to burning twisted hay 

In the little old sod shanty on my claim. 

My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright, 

And everything is scattered round the room, 

But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West 

For the table of the Eastern man's old home. 

Refrain: 

S Still I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take, 
And relieve me from the mess that I am in; 
The angel, how I'd bless her if this her home she'd make 
In the little old sod shanty on my claim. 
And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West, 
Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain; 
We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first, 
In the little old sod shanty on our claim. 
Refrain: 

4 And if kindly fate should bless us with now and then an heir, 
To cheer our hearts with honest pride of fame, 
O then we'd !>e contented for the toil that we had spent 
In the little old sod shanty on our claim. 
When time enough had lapsed and all of those little brats 
To noble man- and womanhood had grown, 
It wouldn't seem half so lonely as around us we should look, 
And see the little old sod shanty on our claim. 
Refrain: 



01 



WHERE O WHERE IS OLD ELIJAH? 



A widely known song among pioneers in the middle west was this one borrowed, possibly, from 
the negroes. It might be called a white man's spiritual. Its melody, its half-story elements, its 
weaving repetitions, make it a good song for company and party singing. And it is one of the best 
I know of for children and grown-ups to join in on, to loosen up, and to get at each other's voices. 
This complete version comes to us from Lloyd Lewis, Free Quaker, and former and early resident of 
Pendlcton, Indiana, a man of sterling integrity and many devices. 

Arr. L. S. 




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rirj-r 










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Where 


O 


where 


IS 




old 


E 


- li - 


jah? 




He 


went 


up 


in 


a 


fi - 


ery 


eh a - 


riot. 


REFRAIN. 


By 


and 


t>y 


we 


will 


go 


and 


see 


him, 




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Where O ^ 


where is old 


E - li - jah? 1 


Where O where 


is 


old E - 


li - jah? 


lie went 


up in a fi - 


ery clia - riot. 


He went up 


in 


:i fi - cry 


cha-riot. 


By and 


by we will go 


and see him, 


By and by 


we 


will go and 


see him, 


, 




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p^ 


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'Way o - ver in the 
'Way o - ver in the 
'Way o - ver in the 

VU_ I 1 _ r . 

fe -;---(- - --J:--- 



'--*- -*- -it 

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Promised Land. 
Promised Land. 
Promised Land. 



WHERE WHERE IS OLD ELIJAH? 

Where where is old Elijah? 

Where where is old Elijah? 

Where O where is old Elijah? 

'Way over in the promised land. 
He went up in a fiery chariot, 
He went up in a fiery chariot, 
He went up in a fiery chariot, 
'Way over in the promised land. 

Refrain: 

By and by we will go and see him, 
By and by we will go and see him, 
By and by we will go and see him, 
'Way over in the promised land. 

Where where are the Hebrew children? 

Where () where are the Hebrew children? 

Where where are the Hebrew children? 

'W T ay over in the promised land. 
They went up in a fiery furnace, 
They went up in a fiery furnace, 
They went up in a fiery furnace, 
'Way over in the promised land. 

Where where is the bad boy Absolom? 

Where O where is the bad boy Absolom? 

Where where is the bad boy Absolom? 

'Way over in the promised land. 
He went up on the spear of Joab, 
He went up on the spear of Joab, 
He went up on the spear of Joab, 
'Way over in the promised land. 

Where where is poor old Daniel? 

Where where is poor old Daniel? 

Where () where is poor old Daniel? 

'Way over in the promised land. 
He went up in a den of lions, 
He went up in a den of lions, 
He went up in a den of lions, 
'Way over in the promised land. 




TURKEY IN THE STRAW 

This is the classical American rural tune. It goes back to " Zip Coon " and early minstrel songs. 
It has been sung at horses and mules from a million wagons. It has a thousand verses, if all were 
gathered. In the solitudes of tall timbers it has been the companion of berry pickers in summer 
and squirrel hunters in fall time. On mornings when the frost was on the pumpkin and the fodder 
in the shock, when nuts were ripe and winter apples ready for picking, it echoed amid the horizons 
of the Muskingum river of Ohio and the Ozark foothills of Missouri. Arguments have been pre- 
sented that the turkey, the Thanksgiving bird, is more the Yankee national emblem than the eagle. 
Maybe so. Anyhow the turkey has a song of the people and the eagle hasn't. And as a song it 
smells of hay mows up over barn dance floors, steps around like an apple-faced farmhand, has the 
whiff of a river breeze when the catfish are biting, and rolls along like a good wagon slicked up with 
new axlegrease on all four wheels. It is as American as Andrew Jackson, Johnny Appleseed, and 
Corn-on-the-Cob. 

Text B. was printed by Delaney who tells me this is the earliest stage version he knows of and 
it is at least fifty years old. With a little "puckering in" and doubling up, the lines can be adjusted 
to the harmonized melody. Text C. is a 1925 ditty from the oil fields of Ohio; Paul Schact, of 
Columbus, passed it along; like oil strikes, gushers, wildcats, doodlebugs, it is a little mysterious. 

Arr. L. S. 







I 



3 



I was a- gwine down the road, Tired team and a hea- vy load, 




I 



Crack rny whip and the lead - er 



; I says day - day to the wa - gon-tongue. 




lav - day 

, W "m ^ 







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RBFEAIM 



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Tur-key in 


-* [ - y - 

the straw, tur-key in the 


. Y ' " ' 1 w w w * [^ [!"" " 

hay, Roll 'em up and twist 'em 


== 

up a 


jfttt^'" J ' "" 


r .r . 


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94 


i 



TUBXKY IN THE STRAW 



J J J J 



p- 



J, J I 



high tuck -a -haw, And hit 'em up a tune called Tor- key in the Straw! 




JzzJzMU- J J ^ 



J-J J JJ 



. Went out to milk and I did- n't know now, I milked the goat in- stead of the cow. A 






/ 



nm 



H-^-J-J-^JJl^ 



& 



r 




3^^ 



J. 



mon - key sit - tin' on a pile of straw A - wink - in* at his moth- er - in - law. 




RXFRATH 



m 







e ^ P g r 







Tur-key in the straw, tur-key in the hay, Boll 'em up and twist 'em up a 




r r 



r 



M 



TUBKEY IN THE STRAW 




high tuck - a - haw, And hit 'era up a tune called Tur - key in the Straw. 




1 As I was a-gwine down the road, 
Tired team and a heavy load, 

Crack my whip and the leader sprung; 

I says day-day to the wagon tongue. 
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, 
Roll 'ern up and twist 'em up a high tuckahaw, 
And hit 'em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw. 

2 Went out to milk and I didn't know how, 
I milked the goat instead of the cow. 

A monkey sittin' on a pile of straw 
A-winkin' at his mother-in-law. 
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc. 

3 Met Mr. Catfish comin* down stream, 
Says Mr. Catfish, "What does you mean?" 
Caught Mr. Catfish by the snout 

And turned Mr. Catfish wrong side out. 
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc. 

4 Came to the river and I couldn't get across 
Paid five dollars for an old blind hoss 
Wouldn't go ahead, nor he wouldn't stand still 
So he went up and down like an old saw mill. 

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc. 

5 As I came down the new cut road 
Met Mr. Bullfrog, met Miss Toad 
And every time Miss Toad would sing 
Ole Bullfrog cut a pigeon wing. 

Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc. 



96 



TURKEY IN THE STRAW 

601 jumped in the seat, and I gave a little yell, 
The horses run away, broke the wagon all to hell; 
Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn, 
I never was so happy since the hour I was born, 
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay, etc. 

B 

Went down to New Orleans, got on a fence, Tom Turkey in de buckwheat straw. 
Dutchman asked me I talk French, dat's nine points ob de law; 
Hit 'em in de head wid a great big brick, Tom Turkey in de buckwheat straw, 
Didn't I make dat nigger look sick, dat's nine points ob de law. 

Refrain: 

Den a turkey in a straw, den a turkey in a straw; 
Roll a web of straw 'round to hide de turkey's paw, 
And we'll shake 'em up a tune called Turkey in a Straw. 

Tobacco am an Ingin weed, Tom Turkey in dc buckwheat straw, 

From de debil it did seed, dat's nine points ob de law; 

Rots your pocket, scents your clothes, Tom Turkey in a buckwheat straw. 

Makes a chimbley of your nose, dat's nine points ob de law. 

Refrain: 



Said the tooler to the driller, "Will you dance me a jig?" 
"O yes, by golly, if I tear down the rig." 
So he took down the wrench that the contractor stole, 
And he danced a jig around the ten-inch hole. 





97 



WHO WILL SHOE YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FOOT? 

One night after I had given my song and guitar recital at Indiana University, I went with 
Prof. Frank C. Senour to his room and we sang and talked till three o'clock in the morning. He 
had in his heart and memory a little piece that he called " exquisite"; that is the word. As a boy 
growing up in Brown County, Indiana, he heard his mother sing it at dish washing and sewing and 
mending, and sometimes for company. He remembered only the verse given below in text A. 
R. W. Gordon gave me text B and I went to Alexander Whitelaw's "Book of Scottish Ballads" for 
text C, where it is titled, "Fair Annie of Lochyran." In another old version, it is known as "The 
Lass of lx>ch Royal." A little book could be written around this song and all its ramifications 

in the past. * 

Arr. L. S. 



2= 



m 



O, who will shoe your pret-ty lit -tie foot, And who will glove your hand, 

n r . 



And 




*^-H:4-"i^"t-'/^ at ---- - ~-frp ife- ar * I &* m * - 





who will kiss your ru - by lips When I've gone to the for-eign land? . . 




-J-=nr.r EH: 
* 











^ 



sa^^fe^M 

sa- fciiL^pcip-tTH p--pz=jr-ynrijdbic 
^ k/ I ^^^i^ i UL> I U^U 



f 



i^-^pJ 






I 



O, who will shoe your pretty little foot, 
And who will glove your hand, 

And who will kiss your ruby lips 
When I've gone to the foreign land? 

B 
THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL 

"Farewell, farewell, my pretty maid, 

Fare-thee-well for a while; 
For I'm going away ten thousand miles, 
Ten thousand miles from here. 

98 



THE TRUE LOVER'S FAREWELL 

2 "Who will shoe your bonny feet, 

And who will glove your hand? 
Who will kiss your red, rosy lips, 
While I'm in some foreign land?*' 

3 "My father will shoe my bonny little feet, 

My mother will glove my hand; 
But my red, rosy lips shall go wanting, 
Till you return again." 

4 "You know a crow is a coal, coal black, 

And turns to a purple blue; 
And if ever I prove false to you, 
I hope my body may melt like dew. 

5 "I'll love you till the seas run dry, 

And rocks dissolve by the sun; 
I'll love you till the day I die, 
And then you know I'm done." 



C 
FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHYRAN 

1 "0 who will shoe my fair foot, 
And who will glove my han'? 
And who will lace my middle jimp 
Wi' a new-made London ban'? 

% "Or who will kemb my yellow hair 
Wi' a new-made silver kemb? 
Or who'll be father to my young bairn, 
Till love Gregor come hame?" 

8 "Your father '11 shoe your fair foot, 
Your mother '11 glove your hand; 
Your sister '11 lace your middle jimp 
Wi' a new-made London ban'; 

4 "Your brethern will kemb your yellow hair 
Wi' a new-made silver kemb; 
And the King of Heaven will father your bairn 
Till love Gregor come hame." 



90 



TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY 



Pour times a year for twenty-two years William W. Delaney published at Park Row, New York, 
his ten-cent songbook, each one with about 170 songs, words only. "On the last page or two," he 
told me, "I always put a few old ones." A favorite of his, among the old ones, is Ten Thousand 
Miles Away. "It's a good song, you can have it," he said as I took down the notes. "Some 
mighty good men have sung it. The songs these days are cheap alongside what we used to have. 
You can't find tunes now like you could in the old days." And he said, after singing, "It's one 
people have forgotten. I don't know how old it is. The old men who sang it for me when I was 
a boy said it was an old song then. And they learned it from old men when they were boys." 










Sing I for a brave and a gal - lant barque, and a stiff and a rat - tling 






breeze, A bul - ly crew and a cap - tain true, to car - ry me o'er the 



\-JrvL -T~ T~ * 4 _i -LL j: 


...... . - _. ,,. 

^ 1 /rJ V j-J fe 


ft 1 1 




J W I ^"^ ^ ^x H 


_P J * 




-H" ^ t J 


M j 3 i~ 9 


seas; . To car - ry me 

xXW i J .,..-. . - i ...-. -J . . ... -~J ~.~J . . ~ 


o'er the seas, my boys, to 


my true love so 


L_jLfel.-. 1 - f 4~- -1 I d K I 
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-- ff" ^ ff= * i>~-"m 


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t~:~ ~ t " " t" r \ P- 






h h ' r r \ ^ 


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gay - ay - ay, . Who went on a trip in a Gov - 
A ^ KKFRAJN 


ern-ment ship ten 

j 


["""tr. V " --..-*-- -^T u. r,. . T ,. . J, _ 






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1 L_ 1 1 


L^C fa^ & 4 i gi>- r - --/SHr 

thous-and miles a - way! . 


_l_ 1 ^| ^ 1 L^ ,_ J__ , 

TST 

Blow, ye winds, hi oh! . A- roam- ing I will 


["tor^t 2 " 1 " F^ ^""{t 3 f " ^" "( 


* f 3 r f +- -d h 


1 j H -( 


go, . I'll stay no more on Eng- land's shore, so let the 


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mus - ic play; . 


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I'll start by the morn - ing train . to cross the rag - ing main, 

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-t^ i- .. - j . & j 


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For I'm on the road to my own true love, ten thous-and miles a - way! . 

100 



TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY 

1 Sing I for a brave and a gallant barque, and a stiff and a rattling breeze, 
A bully crew, and a Captain, true, to carry me o'er the seas; 

To carry me o'er the seas, my boys, to my true love so gay-ay-ay, 
Who went on a trip in a Government ship ten thousand miles away I 

Refrain: 

Blow, ye winds, hi oh! a-roaming I will go, 

I'll stay no more on England's shore, so let the music play; 

I'll start by the morning train to cross the raging main, 

For I'm on the road to my own true love, ten thousand miles away! 

2 My true love she was aandsome, my true love she was young, 

Her eyes were blue as the violet's hue, and silvery was the sound of her tongue; 
And silvery was the sound of her tongue, my boys, and, while I sing this lay-ay-ay, 
She's a-doing of the grand in a far off land, ten thousand miles away! 
Refrain: 

3 Dark and dismal was the day when last I seen my Meg, 

She'd a Government band around each hand, and another one round her leg; 
And another one round her leg, my boys, as the big ship left the bay-ay-ay, 
Adieu, said she, remember me, ten thousand miles away! 
Refrain: 

4 Oh! if I were a sailor lad, or even a bombardier, 

I'd hire a boat and go afloat, and straight to my true love steer; 

And straight to my true love steer, my boys, where the dancing dolphins play-ay-ay, 

And the whales and sharks kick up their larks, ten thousand miles away! 

Refrain: 

5 The sun may shine through a London fog, or the river run bright and clear, 
The ocean's brine be changed to wine, and I forget my beer, 

And I forget my beer, my boys, or the landlord's quarter day-ay-ay, 
But never will I part from my own sweetheart ten thousand miles away. 
Refrain: 




101 



OLD GRAY MARE 



Before the horseless carriage came, in the years when people went buggy-riding, there were more 
songs about horses than now. Oats for Dobbin was an expense then as gas is at the filling station 
now. Fodder for the mare and her foal cost money the same as oil, water and new wind shields 
do today. The horse doctor earned his living as the crack mechanic at the garage does, by fixing 
the ailing parts. We remember in our school readers the verse from Bayard Taylor, voicing the 
sentiments of an Arab to his steed, "My beautiful, my beautiful, thou standest so meekly by." 
The following poem is in a different vein and mood. It is keyed rather to the homely philosophy of 
an Iowa editor who was asked by a Kansas editor what he wanted on his gravestone. The answer 
was they could write, "He et what was sot before him/' It is not as lofty in manner as the reply 
of an Iowa farmer asked about his first horse, a two-year-old given him by his father. "How was 
she? Well, she was stylish but she couldn't stand grief." The melody here is directly appropriated 
from the negro spiritual, The Old Gray Mare Came Tearin' Out the Wilderness. 

- Arr. A. G. W. 



Moderate con moto 




fc f 

-J- J-T-" 



Oh, the old gray mare, she 

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aiu't what she used to be, Man - y long years a - go. 



OLD GRAY MARJB 



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man- y long years a - go. 



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old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, Man - y long years a - go. 



i Oh, the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, 
Ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be. 
The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be, 

Many long years ago. 

Many long years ago, many long years ago, 
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, 

Many long years ago. 

* The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, 
Kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree. 
The old gray mare she kicked on the whiffletree, 

Many long years ago.' 
Many long years ago, many long years ago, 
The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, 

Many long years ago. 



108 



THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM 

"Whiskey!" cried the land rent agitator in a famine year in Ireland. "Whiskey it is that 
makes ye shoot at the landlords and miss *em!" When the Washingtonian Society flourished 
in the 1840's its basic argument was that George Washington drank liquor but knew when to stop. 
Later came the saying, "The difference between a barber shop and a saloon is that when a man has 
had one shave he quits." School children in midwest states in the 1880's carried physiology books 
with color charts showing the progress of a drunkard's stomach from the pink of health to the 
raging crimson of delirium tremens. The drink habit, as an insidious destroyer, was presented in 
church, school, and town opera house, in the play Ten Nights in a Bar Room. The mood of that 
melodrama is gathered in these six verses of The Drunkard's Doom. Mary O. Eddy heard it from 
old women who sang it as girls in Ohio when the Temperance Movement was using songs in its 
crusades. Henry L. Mencken, a chamber music pianist, a composer, a contrapuntalist, a critic of 
music and the arts in general, writes the harmonization here. 

Arr. H. L. M. 




At dawn of day I saw a man Stand by a grog sa - loon: 



His 














eyes were sunk, his lips were parch 'd, O that's thedrunk-ard's doom. 



i 








1 At dawn of day I saw a man 
Stand by a grog saloon: 
His eyes were sunk, his lips were parched, 
that's the drunkard's doom. 

104 



THE DRUNKARD'S DOOM 

ft His little son stood by his side, 
And to his father said, 
"Father, mother lies sick at home 
And sister cries for bread." 

8 He rose and staggered to the bar 
As oft he'd done before, 
And to the landlord smilingly said, 
"Just fill me one glass more." 

4 The cup was filled at his command, 
He drank of the poisoned bowl, 
He drank, while wife and children starved, 
And ruined his own soul. 



5 A year had passed, I went that way, 
A hearse stood at the door; 
I paused to ask, and one replied, 
"The drunkard is no more." 



6 I saw the hearse move slowly on, 
No wife nor child was there; 
They too had flown to heaven's bright home 
And left a world of care. 



7 Now, all young men, a warning take, 
And shun the poisoned bowl; 
Twill lead you down to hell's dark gate, 
And ruin your own soul. 




105 



WHAT WAS YOUR NAME IN THE STATES? 



This ditty, of course, is out of the time when fugitives from the East preferred western to eastern 
climate. 

AIT. II. F. 



Oh, what was your name in the States? 



Was it Thomp-son or 



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John - son or Hates? 



Did you mur - der your wife And 







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fly for your life? Say, what was your name in the States? 



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Oh, what was your name in the States? 

Was it Thompson or Johnson or Bates? 

Did you murder your wife 

And fly for your life? 

Say, what was your name in the States? 



106 



SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE 

It's four long years since I reached this land, 
In search of gold among the rocks and sand; 
And yet I'm poor when the truth is told, 
I'm a lousy miner, 
I'm a lousy miner in search of shining gold. 

My sweetheart vowed she'd wait for me 

"Till I returned; but don't you see 

She's married now, sure, so I am told, 

Left her lousy miner, 

Left her lousy miner, in search of shining gold. 

Oh, land of gold, you did nie deceive, 

And-I intend in thce my bones to leave; 

So farewell, home, now iny friends grow cold, 

I'm a lousy miner, 

I'm a lousy miner in search of shining gold. 

The verses from a song of California known as The Lousy Minor go to the tune of an older piece 
The Dark-Eyed Sailor. In Put's Original California Songster, we find the comic and the bitter. 
Many a line has a sting and a bite in it, a cry of the frustrated fool, sitting in the ashes of defeat and 
humiliation. There were two ways to reach the goldfields from the Atlantic seaboard or the Missis- 
sippi Valley. One was by ship around Cape Horn, the other across the Great Plains by] covered 
wagon. These routes are told of in verses from The Fools of '49 to the tune of Commence, You 
Darkies All; they give facts in a half -comic manner that, as the testimony piles up, becomes sardonic. 

The poor, the old and rotten scows, were advertised to sail 
From New Orleans with passengers, but they must pump and bail; 
The ships were crowded more than full, and some hung on behind, 
And others dived off from the wharf, and swam till they were blind. 

Refrain: 

Then they thought of what they had been told, 

When they started after gold, 

That they never in the world would make a pile. 

With rusty pork and stinking beef, and rotten, wormy bread, 

And captains, too, that never were up as high as the main-mast head, 

The steerage passengers would rave and swear that they'd paid their passage 

And wanted something more to eat besides Bologna sausage. 

Then they began to cross the plains with oxen, hollowing "haw"; 
And steamers they began to run as far as Panama, 
And there for months the people staid that started after gold, 
And some returned disgusted with the lies that had been told. 

The people died on every route, they sicken'd and died like sheep, 
And those at sea, before they were dead, were launched into the deep; 
And those that died while crossing the Plains fared not so well as that, 
For a hole was dug and they thrown in, along the miserable Platte. 

107 



BETSY PROM PIKE 

The ups and downs of covered wagon life, mixed with romance and ending in divorce, are told 
in one of the favorite songs of California in the 1850's. Sweet Betsy From Pike has the stuff of a 
realistic novel. It is droll and don't-care, bleary and leering, as slippery and lackadaisical as some 
of the comic characters of Shakespeare, or as trifling as the two murderers who are asked, "How 
came you here? " and who answer, "On our legs." It was a good wagon song. Miles of monotonous 
scenery would pass to the singing of it. Disappointed prospectors could share their own misery 
with Betsy and Ike. The last line of each verse could be repeated, for a change, with the fol de rol 
words, "Tooral lal looral lal, Tooral lal la loo." It was a good wagon song. 




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n 






Oh, don't you re - mem - her sweet Bet - sy from Pike, Who crossed the big 




mount -ains with her lov - er Ike, With two yoke of cat *- tie, a 





large yel - low dog, A 
KBFKAIN 



tall Shang - hai roost - er, and one spot - ted 






hog; Say - ing good - bye, Pike Conn - ty, Fare - well for a while; 

We'll . come back a - gain When we've panned out our pile. 

1 Oh don't you remember sweet Betsy from Pike, 

Who crossed the big mountains with her lover Ike, 
With two yoke of cattle, a large yellow dog, 
A tall Shanghai rooster, and one spotted hog; 

Refrain: 
Saying goodbye, Pike County, 

Farewell for a while; 
We'll come back again 
When we've panned out our pile. 

One evening quite early, they camped on the Platte, 

'Twas near by the road on a green shady flat; 
Where Betsy, quite tired, laid down to repose, 
While with wonder Ike gazed on his Pike County Rose. 
Refrain: 



108 



SWEET BETSY FROM PIKE 

3 They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out 

And down in the sand she lay rolling about; 
While Ike in great tears looked on in surprise, 
Saying, "Betsy get up, you'll get sand in your eyes." 
Refrain: 

4 Sweet Betsy got up in a great deal of pain, 

And declared she'd go back to Pike County again. 
Then Ike heaved a sigh and they fondly embraced, 
And she traveled along with his arm 'round her waist. 
Refrain: 

5 The Shanghai ran off and the cattle all died, 

The last piece of bacon that morning was fried; 
Poor Ike got discouraged, and Betsy got mad, 
The dog wagged his tail and looked wonderfully sad. 
Refrain: 

6 One morning they climbed up a very high hill, 

And with wonder looked down into old Placerville; 
Ike shouted and said, as he cast his eyes down, 

"Sweet Betsy, my darling, we've got to Hangtown." 
Refrain: 

7 Long Ike and Sweet Betsy attended a dance, 

Where Ike wore a pair of his Pike County pants, 
Sweet Betsy was covered with ribbons and rings, 
Quoth Ike, "You're an angel, but where are your wings?" 
Refrain: 

8 A miner said "Betsy, will you dance with me?" 

"I will, old boss, if you don't make too free; 
But don't dance me hard. Do you want to know why? 
Dog on ye, I'm chuck full of strong alkali." 
Refrain: 

9 Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course, 

But Ike getting jealous obtained a divorce; 
And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout, 
"Goodbye, you big lummux, I'm glad you backed out," 

Last Refrain: 

Saying goodbye, dear Isaac, 

Farewell for a while. 
But come back in time 

To replenish my pile. 

109 



CALIFORNIA 



Shortly after the young congressman, Abraham Lincoln, came home from Washington and 
settled down again to the practice of law in Springfield, Illinois, there were announcements in news- 
papers occasionally, such as, " All who are interested in the California expedition will meet at candle- 
light to-night in the court house." California then was a place to talk about, to guess and wonder 
about. News came from Slitter's Creek: ten men shook pay dirt through hand screens and found 
a million dollars apiece in gold nuggets; the Sari Francisco city council adjourned without setting 
a date when it would rncct again, churches closed their doors, newspapers stopped printing, ships 
lay in harbor with no sailors, cooks and soldiers ran away from military forts. A free-for-all rush 
started to the gold diggings: a spade sold for $1,000.00. It was news that made New York and 
London sit up. Across the Great Plains came wagon trains; in ten miles along the Matte River a 
traveler counted 459 wagons. At the trail's end was gold and California. 

Arr. M. L. 




When formed our band, we arc all well manned.To jour - ney a - far to the 



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men - to shorc.Thcn ho, boys, ho; 



To Cal - i - for - nia go, There's 



CALIFORNIA 




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plen-ty of gold in theworldj'm told, On the banks of the Sac - ra - men -to shore. 




1 When formed our band, we are all well manned, 
To journey afar to the promised land; 

The golden ore is rich in store 

On the banks of the Sacramento shore. 

Refrain : 

Then ho, boys, ho! To California go, 
There's plenty of gold in the world, I'm told, 
On the banks of the Sacramento shore. 

2 As oft we roam o'er the dark sea's foam, 
We'll not forget kind friends at home, 
But memory kind still brings to mind 
The love of friends we left behind. 

Kef rain: 

3 We'll expect our share of the coarsest fare, 
And sometimes sleep in the open air, 

On the cold damp ground we'll all sleep sound 
Except when the wolves go howling round. 
Refrain: 

4 As we explore to the distant shore, 
Filling our pockets with the shining ore, 
How it will sound as the shout goes round, 
Filling our pockets with a dozen of pounds. 
Refrain: 

5 The gold is there almost anywhere; 
We dig it out rich with an iron bar, 
But where it is thick, with spade or pick 
We take out chunks as big as a brick. 
Refrain: 

111 



THE BANKS OF SACRAMENTO 

Sailing ships took tens of thousands of gold seekers around Cape Horn to San Francisco, later 
taking thousands of the same passengers back. Many were bitter. A song came on the ships. 
Sailors sang it. In the goldfields it passed the time over pick and sieve or frying pan or over shirt 
and trousers having the vermin boiled out. The scramble for claims, belongings, pay dirt, was 
fierce. What is called "the mortality rate 9 ' ran high. They tried to laugh it off, sing it away. 






m 



Ho, boys, ho! for Cal - i - for- nia, O! There's plen -ty of gold, so 




I've been told, 



ra - men - to. 



Ho, boys, ho! for California, O! 
There's plenty of gold, so I*ve been told, 
On the banks of the Sacramento. 

Ho, boys, ho! for California, O! 

There's plenty of bones, so I've been told, 

On the banks of the Sacramento. 



MONEY 

Black-faced banjoist.s on the wagons of medicine men used to sing a money song with many 
verses. I remember the following refrain as going with each verse. 




mou - oy is the meat in the co - coa - nut, 



O 




mon-ey is the milk in the jug; When you've got lots of mon - ey You 




ver - y fun - ny, You're hap - py as a bug 



O money is the meat in the cocoanut, 
O money is the milk in the jug; 
When you've got lots of money 
You feel very funny, 
You're happy as a bug in a rug. 



in 



rug 



THE MONKEY'S WEDDING 

In many odd corners of America may be heard improvised verses rattled off to this tune of 
The Monkey's Wedding with nonsense of a similar order, though most often such impromptus are 
too silly or too irregular for use at gatherings of ordinary citizens. Some old English and Irish 
jigs have much this same tune. 







The mon - key mar]-ried the bab-oon's sis - ter, Gave her a ring and 







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T + < 



then . he . kissed her; He kissed so hard he raised a blis - ter, 







3? 



She set up a yell. The brides - maid stuck on some court -phts - 




ter, It stuck 



fast it 



could - n't stick fast - er; 






Sure - ly . 'twas a . sad dis - as - ter, But it . soon got well. 



The monkey married the baboon's sister, 
Gave her a ring and then be kissed her; 
He kissed so hard he raised a blister, 
She set up a yell. 

The bridesmaid stuck on some court-plaster, 
It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster; 
Surely 'twas a sad disaster, 
But it soon got well. 



S What do you think they had for supper? 
Chestnuts raw and boiled and roasted, 
Apples sliced and onions toasted, 
Peanuts not a few. 

What do you think they had for a fiddle? 
An old banjo with a hole in the middle, 
A tambourine and a worn-out griddle, 
Hurdy-gurdy too. 



What do you think the bride was dressed in? 

White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin, 

Red kid shoes quite interestin', 

She was quite a belle. 

The bridegroom blazed with a blue shirt-collar, 

Black silk stock that cost a dollar, 

Large false whiskers, the fashion to follow; 

He cut a monstrous swell. 

113 



What do you think were the tunes they danced 

to? 

What were the figures they advanced to, 
Up and down as they chanced to? 
Tails they were too long! 
"Duck in the kitchen," "Old Aunt Sally," 
Plain cotillion, "Who keeps Tally?" 
Up and down they charge and rally! 
Ended is my song. 



ROSIE NELL 



In the first Oklahoma land rush in the late 'Eighties, was a woman who rode a wild horse and 
staked out a claim worth having. In the years that came she raised corn, broom corn, alfalfa, soy 
beans and three daughters who had freckle faces, hair of a dark gold corn silk, and sweet dis- 
positions. Time passed. The family moved. New York was their home, the address was on 
Eighty-eighth Street, and the number in the phone book. They were now far from Oklahoma. 
Yet there came one cold rainy night to their fireside, their steam radiator, a young man who had 
raised corn, broom corn, alfalfa, and soy beans in Kansas, the next state to Oklahoma and standing 
on the same big prairie. They sang on that cold rainy night, those people around the steam radiator. 
And one of the songs was Rosie Nell. "It was a comfort to us in those days of the first Oklahoma 
land rush," said the woman who rode a wild horse to stake out a claim. 

Andantlno, quanl allegretto Arr. A. G. W. 

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on each oth - er when at school, to pass the time a - way. They of - ten wished me 



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gteseg 





with thomjmt thoy al- ways wished in vain; I'd rath- er be with Ro - sie Nell, a- 



ROSIE NELL 



REFRAIN 



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swing- ing in the lane A- swing -ing in the lane, . a -swing -ing in the 



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I'd rath - er be with Ro - sie, Nell, a - swing - ing in the 



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A - swing - ing in the lane, . . a - swing - ing in the 




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lane, 



Fd rath - er be with Ro - sie Nell, a - swing- ing in the lane. 



ROSIE NELL 

1 How oft I dream of childhood days, of tricks we used to play 
Upon each other when at school, to pass the time away. 

They often wished me with them, but they always wished in vain; 
I'd rather be with Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane. 

Refrain: 

A-swinging in the lane, a-swinging in the lane, 
I'd rather be witli Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane, 
A-swinging in the lane, a-swinging in the lane, 
I'd rather be with Rosie Nell, a-swinging in the lane. 

2 But soon a cloud of sorrow came; a strange young man from town, 
Was introduced to Rosie Nell by Aunt Jemima Brown; 

She stayed away from school next day, the truth to me was plain ; 
She'd gone with that young city chap, a-swinging in the lane. 
Refrain: 

3 Now all young men with tender hearts, pray take advice from me; 
Don't IK? so quick to fall in love, with every girl you see; 

For if you do you soon will find, you've only loved in vain; 
She'll go of! with some other chap, a-swinging in the lane, 
Refrain: 



CHICKEN REEL 

Of all the country fiddlers' tunes I have heard, the old timer Chicken Reel is the favorite that 
keeps best. Other favorites hold their charm. Over the Sea is friendly and human. Hen Cackle 
is funny; The Old Town Pump and Speckled lien, too. Also McLeod's Reel, Irish Washerwoman, 
Turkey in the Straw, Hell on the Wabash, and Sweet Potatoes Grow in Sandy Land have their 
points. Yet, the trickiest of all is Chicken Reel. Cunning of musical design, elusive and unex- 
pected in its transitions, it is like a poem that parodies itself, like a cat that walks alone, like a woman 
who forgets that she has forgotten, like three thistle sifters with thimbles sifting softly through three 
sieves. Its theme is "Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you." The tune here was notated 
by Harry Gilbert from the playing of Jess Ricks, a Long Island, New York, fiddler. Ricks was 
raised in Taylorville, Illinois, and learned Chicken Reel from Uncle Jim Simpson, a famous barn 
dance fiddler of Palmer, Illinois. 



VIOLIN 




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g> I -I lif. 

tsrf 




110 



HANGING OUT THE LINEN CLOTHES 



From break of day till set of sun, woman's work is never done. In those days there was linen. 
And woman took thought about her clothes. Six days she toiled and smoothed and fashioned her 
linen garb and vestment, and all the time she hoped to look good and seem fair and acceptable in 
the eyes of her "darling" who, the song says, saw her at work. He regarded her all the more highly 
because she was a working girl fixing her own clothes. Grandmothers of the present generation of 
Calif ornians sang this over wash-tubs and ironing boards, over the needles as they stitched and 
hemmed. Thus we have it from Pauline Jacobson and friends in San Francisco. 

Arr. M. L. 





Twas on a Mon-day morn -ing, the first I saw my dar - ling A 

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hang -ing out the lin -en clothes, a -hang- ing out the lin - en clothes. 







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-A 



^zrzzziCT-izi: 



1 'Twas on a Monday morning, the first I saw my darling 
A-hanging out the linen clothes, a-hanging out the linen clothes. 

2 Twas on a Tuesday morning, the first I saw my darling 
A-taking in the linen clothes, a-taking in the linen clothes. 

3 'Twas on a Wednesday morning, the first I saw my darling 
A-ironing of the linen clothes, a-ironing of the linen clothes. 

4 Twas on a Thursday morning, the first I saw my darling 
A-mending of the linen clothes, a- mending of the linen clothes. 

5 Twas on a Friday morning, the first I saw my darling 
A-folding of the linen clothes, a-folding of the linen clothes. 

6 Twas on a Sunday morning, the first I saw my darling, 
A-wearing of the linen clothes, a-wearing of the linen clothes. 

117 



DOWN, DOWN DERRY DOWN 

When children in the old days asked for a story or a song, the older folks sometimes gave both 
in a ballad such as this, which seems to have been known in Hartfordshire, England, in Massachu- 
setts and Virginia, before it traveled to Illinois and the midwest. There were children heard a 
father or uncle, a mother or aunt, sing it hundreds of times. "We'll go over to Aunt Mehitable and 
ask her to sing 'Down, Down Derry Down/" Eyes were shiny with fascination over the boy 
hero selling the cow, matching his wits against the robber, and bringing home a horse, bags of gold, 
and "bright pistols." The line "Down, down deny down," was useful; the singer while giving 
that line could refresh his recollection about the next verse; in the same moment the children could 
be guessing about what would happen next; they enjoy such guessing as they also enjoy wondering 
how many more verses there can be; and naturally, those well acquainted with a long ballad watch 
and wait for their favorite verses. Text and tune here are from Margery K. Forsythe of Chicago, 
who tells us, " Down, Down Derry Down was sung in our family before the Revolution. My mother 
(1800) heard her grandmother (1793) sing it and she in turn remembered it farther back. The first 
two lines of the third verse were lost and these are impromptu/' 

Arr. H. F. P. 




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Oh! La -dies and gen - tie -men, please to draw near; I'll sing of a man who lived in 



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Hard - ford- shire. A fine Hart - ford-shire boy_ he had for his man to 

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do his busi - ness, his name was called John. Down, Down Der - ry Down. 




DOWN, DOWN DERHY DOWN 

1 Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, please to draw near; I'll sing of a man who lived in Hertfordshire. 
A fine Hartf ordshire boy he had for his man to do his business, his name was called John. 
Down, Down Deny Down (repeat this line after each verse). 

Bright early one morning he to him did come, saying, "John, take my cow to the fair in the town. 
Oh, this very day take my cow to the fair, for she's in good order and her I can spare. 

8 So John took the cow and rode to the fair; "I'll make a good bargain/' he then did declare. 
And on the way there he met with a man and sold him the cow for six pound ten. 

4 The man had paid the boy down all the chink, when they went into an ale-house to drink, 
And unto the landlady then he did say, "Oh, what shall I do with this money I pray?'* 

5 "Sew it into your coat lining," then she did say, "Lest you should be robbed upon the highway.'* 
There sat a highwayman a-drinking his wine; he said to himself, "That money is mine." 

6 The boy took his leave and away he did go, the highwayman followed soon after also; 

He soon overtook him upon the highway, "You're well overtaken, young lad," he did say. 

7 "Oh, jump up behind me," the highwayman said; "How far arc you going?" replied the young lad. 
"About four miles further for all that I know," so he jumped up behind and away they did go. 

8 They rode until they came to a dark lane; the highwayman said, " I must tell you now plain, 
Deliver your money without any strife, or I will assuredly take your sweet life." 

9 The boy, seeing there was no chance for dispute, be jumped from the horse and the money pulled 

out. 
And from his coat-lining the money pulled out~and in the long grass he strewed it about. 

10 The highwayman immediately jumped from his horse, but little he judged it was for his loss* 
For while he was putting it into his purse, the boy took his leave and rode off with the horse. 

11 The highwayman hollooed and bade him to stay,fthe boy never minded but still rode away, 
And unto his master's house he did bring horse, saddle and bridle and many fine thing. 

12 On searching the saddle-bags, as we are told, there were ten thousand pounds in silver and gold, 
Beside two bright pistols the boy said, "I trow, I think, my dear master, I've sold well your 

cow!" 

18 His master smiled when him he had told, saying, "As for a boy you've been very bold, 
As for the highwayman, he's lost all his store, let him go a-robbing until he gets more." 



GOOD 



119 



THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR 



What is a pioneer? An American poet answered, "A pioneer is a beginner." It was a child- 
like answer. The pioneers in any country are those who make its beginnings. They begin the 
trails that later become roads. They stake out land claims, put in crops and start farming. An 
inscription chiseled on the state capitol building of Nebraska reads, "Honour to pioneers who broke 
sod that men to come might live." They were strugglers, those who went out on the Great Plains 
to make homes. They took weeks for the wagon trip west as "movers." Or they rode on "Home- 
seekers' Excursion Trains," eating from lunch baskets, sleeping on the seats of railroad cars two, 
three, four nights. Once located on the quarter-section claim, which would be their own land and 
home if they stayed a few years and farmed it, there was strife and struggle. To get food and clothes, 
to keep a shelter going that would shut out rain and snow, to outwit the grasshoppers that came to 
eat crops, to live through bad cooking, blizzards and vermin, was a steady round of strife and 
struggle. "There's nothing will make a man hard and profane like starving to death on a govern- 
ment claim," we are told in this song. They had a saying, "The worse things are the better they 
are." Sometimes the battle wore them down; it was too much. With "nothing to lose and noth- 
ing to gain," they quit as this bachelor, Frank Bolar, did. "They moved to new parts," was com- 
mon talk as to neighbors. Or, "they vamoosed, skedaddled." The text here is from Edwin Ford 
Pi|>er, whose poems of "barbed wire" cover that Iowa and Nebraska territory where cattle used to 
have free range. There were no fences; then came bartied wire. "My people always sang Lane 
County Bachelor to the Irish Washerwoman," says Piper. It is a document in jig time. 



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But hur - rah for 



Coun - ty, the land of the free, The 




home of the grass- hop - per, bed-bug, and flea, I'll sing loud her prais-es and 

^M^4^Ei^Pi 




boast of her fame While starv - ing to death on my gov - em - ment claim* 

120 



THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR 

1 My name is Frank Bolar, 'nole bachelor I am, 
I'm keepin' ole bach on an elegant plan. 
You'll find me out West in the County of Lane 
Starving to death on a government claim; 

My house it is built of the national soil, 
The walls are erected according to Hoyle, 
The roof has no pitch but is level and plain 
And I always get wet when it happens to rain. 

Refrain: 

But hurrah for Lane County, the land of the free, 
The home of the grasshopper, bedbug, and flea, 
1*11 sing loud her praises and boast of her fame 
While starving to death on my government claim. 

2 My clothes they are ragged, my language is rough, 
My head is case-hardened, both solid and tough; 
The dough it is scattered all over the room 

And the floor would get scared at the sight of a broom; 
My dishes are dirty and some in the bed 
Covered with sorghum and government bread; 
But I have a good time, and live at my ease 
On common sop-sorghum, old bacon and grease. 

Refrain: 

But hurrah for Lane County, the land of the West, 
Where the farmers and laborers are always at rest, 
Where you've nothing to do but sweetly remain, 
And starve like a man on your government claim. 

3 How happy am I when I crawl into bed, 
And a rattlesnake rattles his tail at my head, 
And the gay little centipede, void of all fear 
Crawls over my pillow and into my ear, 

And the nice little bedbug so cheerful and bright, 
Keeps me a-scratching full half of the night, 
And the gay little flea with toes sharp as a tack 
Plays "Why don't you catch me?" all over my back. 

Refrain: 

But hurrah for Lane County, where blizzards arise, 

Where the winds never cease and the flea never dies, 

Where the sun is so hot if in it you remain 

Twill burn you quite black on your government claim. 



121 



THE LANE COUNTY BACHELOR 

4 How happy am I on my government claim, 
Where I've nothing to lose and nothing to gain, 
Nothing to eat and nothing to wear, 
Nothing from nothing is honest and square. 
But here I am stuck, and here I must stay, 
My money's all gone and I can't get away; 
There's nothing will make a man hard and profane 
Like starving to death on a government claim. 

Refrain: 

Then come to Lane County, there's room for you all, 
Where the winds never cease and the rains never fall, 
Come join in the chorus and boast of her fame, 
While starving to death on your government claim. 

6 Now don't get discouraged, ye poor hungry men, 
Wo 're all here as free as a pig in a pen; 
Just stick to your homestead and battle your fleas, 
And pray to your Maker to send you a breeze. 
Now a word to claim-holders who are bound for to stay: 
You may chew your hard-tack till you're toothless and gray, 
But an for me, I'll no longer remain 
And starve like a dog on my government claim. 

Refrain: 

Farewell to Lane County, farewell to the West, 
I'll travel back East to the girl I love best; 
I'll stop in Missouri and get me a wife, 
And live on corn dodgers the rest of my life. 



ft. 




iee 



KENTUCKY BLAZING STAR 



HARMONIZATION BT 



PAGE 



BOUBWOOD MOUNTAIN Alfred G. Waihall .... 125 

THE LOVER'S LAMENT Alfred G. Waihall .... 126 

HELLO, GIRLS Alfred G. Waihall .... 128 

KANSAS BOYS 129 

RED RIVER VALLEY Henry Francis Parks . . . 130 

LIZA JANE Alfred G. Wailiall . . . .132 

MOUNTAIN TOP 133 

NEGRO REEL Alfred G. Wathall .... 134 

ONE MORNING IN MAY Alfred G. Waihall .... 136 

THE TROUBLED SOLDIER 137 

POST-RAIL SONG 188 

HAMMER MAN Alfred G. Waihall .... 139 

LOVE HOMEBODY, YES i DO Alfred G. Wathott .... 140 

AIN'T GONNA RAIN 141 

KENTUCKY MOONSHINER Alfred G. Wathall .... 142 

MR. FROG WENT A-COURT1NG 143 

KIND MISS Alfred G. Wathall .... 144 

GOIN* DOWN TO TOWN 145 

THE SHIP THAT NEVER RETURNED Henry Francis Parka . . . 146 

DOWN IN THE VALLEY Alfred G. Watftall .... 148 

I DREAMED LAST NIGHT OF MY TRUE LOVE . . . Alfred G. Wathall .... 149 

DRIVIN' STEEL Alfred G. Watliall .... 150 



its 



When at the University of Kentucky with my talk and recital, I was told of Gilbert Reynolds 
Combs, minister of the First Methodist Episcopal Church of Lexington. He came from the moun- 
tain people and believes in them as having characters of tragedy and comedy, as having tempera- 
merit, speech, song and original minds. His talk about the mountain people and his singing of 
their ballads and ditties is quiet and convincing. Born "on the waters of Cow Creek," he saw 
life amid the log cabins on the ridges of Pine Mountain and the streams named Troublesome, Cut- 
shin, Hell-fer-Sartain and Kingdom Come. His forefathers for three generations were natives of 
" Bloody Breathitt " county, tracing back to Scotch-Irish settlers in Virginia before the Revolution. 
When Combs came down from the mountains in his sixteenth year, he was to see for the first time 
a railroad train, a telephone, typewriter, fountain pen, bath tub, barber chair, and other items 
of onrushing civilization. He worked his way through Berea College, was the valedictorian at 
Kentucky Wesleyan, took post-graduate studies, won an oratory medal at Vanderbilt University, 
at twenty-seven was ordained a minister and in a few years became one of the leaders, at thirty- 
six was the pastor of what is regarded as the central and leading church of his Conference. In a 
corner of his church study Mr. Combs has a collection of more than 300 mountaineer songs. He 
placed at our disposal a number of them appearing in the section called Kentucky Blazing Star> 
which is the name of a "kiverlid" design that originated in some cabin alongside a Troublesome 
or Kingdom Corne Creek. 



1*4 



SOURWOOD MOUNTAIN 

This tune and text of Sourwood Mountain, which has so many versions, is another from the 
collection of Gilbert R. Combs of Lexington, Kentucky. It is as much a dance tune as a song, and 
is close to the style of the yodel. 

Art. A. G. W. 




Chickens a - crow- in 9 on Sour-wood Mountain, Ho - dee - ing-dong - doo- die al - lay day, 






-K 








\ ^ .__ L . i 



So man-y pret-ty girls I can't count 'em, Ho -dee -ing-dong-doo-dle al-lay day. 
















1 Chickens a-crowin' on Sourwood Mountain, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 
So many pretty girls I can't count 'em, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 

fc My true love, she's a blue-eyed dandy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 
A kiss from her is sweeter than candy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 

3 My^ true love lives over the river, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 
A hop and a skip and I'll be with her, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 



4 My true love is a blue-eyed daisy, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 
If she don't marry me I'll go crazy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 

5 Back my jenny up the Sourwood Mountain, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 

So many pretty girls I can't count 'em, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 

6 My true love is a sun-burnt daisy, 

Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day, 
She won't work and I'm too lazy, 
Ho-dee-ing-dong-doodle allay day. 



THE LOVER'S LAMENT 



Blendings from five or six old ballads are in this song of parting lovers. "Her lips was like 
some musical instrument," and other lines, are extraordinary. The pangs of separation find voice 
in an upward sliding wail. It is communicated by Neeta Marquis of Los Angeles, who says it 
is too finely sweet a .song to be among the lost and forgotten things of melodic art. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Andaiitlno 






My dear - est dear, the time draws near When you 



and I must 





part; But lit -tie do you know the grief or woe Of my poor troub-lcd heart. 

4_ 








Oh hush, my love, you will break my heart, Nor let me hear you 




THE LOVER'S LAMENT 



m 



pocorit. 



^ 



/ 



cry; For the best of friends will have to part, And so must you and I. 




1 My dearest dear, the time draws near 
When you and I must part ; 

But little do you know the grief or woe 
Of my poor troubled heart, 

Refrain: 

Oh hush, my love, you will break my heart, 
Nor let me hear you cry; 
For the best of friends will have to part, 
And so must you and I. 

2 As I walked out one clear summer night, 
A-drinking of sweet wine, 

It was then I saw that pretty little girl 
That stole this heart of mine. 
Refrain: 

3 Her cheeks was like some pink or rose 
That blooms in the month of June, 

Her lips was like some musical instrument, 

That sung this doleful tune. 

Refrain: 



4 Ah, who will shoe your feet, my love, 
And who will glove your hands, 
And who will kiss your red, rosy lips 
When I am gone to the foreign land? 
Refrain: 

5 My father, he will shoe my feet, 
My mother will glove my hands, 
And you may kiss my rod, rosy lips, 
When you come from the foreign land. 
Refrain: 

6 You are like unto some turtle dove, 
That flies from tree to tree, 
A-mourning for its own true love 
Just as I mourn for thcc. 
Refrain; 

1 You are like unto some sailing ship 
That sails the raging main, 
If I prove false to you, my love, 
The raging seas will burn. 
Refrain: 



B 



1 I wish your breast was made of glass, 

All in it I might behold; 
Your name in secret I would write 
In letters of bright gold* 
Refrain. 



Your name in secret I would write, 
Pray believe in what I say; 

You are the man that I love best 
Unto my dying day. 
Refrain. 



HELLO, GIRLS 

Girls who are thinking about getting married find advice here. The third verse carries a laugh, 
with a slight mourning border of sober second thought. Movers from Kentucky, probably, took 
the tune to Kansas, and gave it new verses as in text B, the song of Kansas Boys. "Puncheon 
floor" and "milk in the gourd" are clearly Kentucky inventions or importations. Planting corn 
in February "with a Texas pony and a grasshopper plow," however, is a farming trick the Ken- 
tuckians first heard of after they left "the Gascony of America" and took up claims in the Sunflower 
state. The verses traveled up into Nebraska districts where they pitch horseshoes and hold cham- 
pionship corn-husking contests, for Edwin Ford Piper, who lived on a farm near Auburn, wrote of 
Kansas Boys, "This ballad I found in my sister's note book. The older brothers and sisters used 

to sing it." 

Arr. A. G. W. 







Hcl-lo girls, lis-ten to my voice, Don't you nev-cr mar -ry no good-for-nothing boys. 



$*_ +z-_ fa. f 

S/fcTh- -- / l . I> :" "-::-:. K::.zr-[ 



poco ril. 




If you do your doom shall be 



Hoe-cake, ho- min - y and sass - a - f ras tea. 




1 Hello girls, listen to my voice, 
Don't you never marry no good-for-nothing boys. 
If you do your doom shall be 
Hoe-cake, hominy, and sassafras tea. 

Young boys walking down the street, 
Young girls think they look mighty sweet. 
Hands in their pockets not a dime can they find, 
Oh, how tickled, poor girls mine. 

3 When a young man falls in love, 
First it's honey and then turtle dove. 
After he's married no such thing, 

"Get up and get my breakfast, you good-for-nothing thing! 9 

128 



B 
KANSAS BOYS 

1 Come, all young girls, pay attention to my noise, 
Don't fall in love with the Kansas boys, 

For if you do your portion it will be, 
Johnny cake and antelope is all you'll see. 

2 They'll take you out on the jet black hill, 
Take you there so much against your will, 
Leave you there to perish on the plains, 
For that is the way with the Kansas range.' 

8 Some live in a cabin with a huge log wall, 
Nary a window in it at all, 
Sand stone chimney and a puncheon floor, 
Clapboard roof and a button door. 

4 When they get hungry and go to make bread, 
They kindle a fire as high as your head, 
Rake around the ashes and in they throw, 
The name they give it is "doughboys' dough/' 

5 When they go to milk they milk in a gourd, 
Heave it in the corner and cover with a board, 
Some get plenty and some get none, 

That is the way with the Kansas run. 

6 When they go to meeting the clothes that they wear 
Is an old brown coat all picked and bare, 

An old white hat more rim than crown, 

A pair of cotton socks they wore the week around. 

7 WTien they go to farming you needn't be alarmed, 
. In February they plant their corn, 

The way they tend it I'll tell you now, 
With a Texas pony and a grasshopper plow. 

8 When they go a-fishing they take along a worm, 
Put it on the hook just to see it squirm, 

The first thing they say when they get a bite 
Is "I caught a fish as big as Johnny White." 

9 When they go courting they take along a chair, 

The first thing they say is, "Has your daddy killed a bear,'* 
The second thing they say when they sit down 
Is "Madam, your Johnny cake is baking brown." 



129 



RED RIVER VALLEY 



The popular song In the Bright Mohawk Valley went through changes in the seaboard and 
mountain states of the South. It became The Red River Valley; it went west and became a "cow- 
boy love song,*' the end line speaking of "the cowboy that's waiting for you" or "the half breed 
that's waiting for you." The version here is from Gilbert R. Combs as he heard it on Pine Mountain. 
Three final stanzas arc added from the R. W. Gordon collection. I have heard it sung as if bells 

might be calling across a mist in a gloaming. 

Arr. H. F. P. 




From this val - ley they say you are go - ing, . 
Corne and sit by my side if you love me, . 



We will 
Do not 



Tj-rt ~~ * 







g_?_ 



_. j_ 



~.-E- 



'& 



miss your bright eyes a rid sweet smile, 
has - ten to bid me a - dieu, 



For they say you are tak - in# the 
But re- mem - her the Red Riv-er 




sun - shine 
Val - ley 

l IS j_. 



That bright - ens our path - way a - while. . . . 
And the girl that has loved you so true. . L . 

J 4 



n < 
;i|^fe| 




BED RIVER VALLEY 



1 From this valley they say you are going, 
We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile, 
For they say you are taking the sunshine 
That brightens our pathway awhile. 

Refrain: 

Come and sit by my side if you love me, 
Do not hasten to bid me adieu, 
But remember the Red River Valley 
And the girl that has loved you so true. 

fc For a long time I have been waiting 

For those dear words you never would say, 
But at last all my fond hopes have vanished, 
For they say you are going aawy. 
Refrain: 

3 Won't you think of the valley you're leaving? 
Oh how lonely, how sad it will be. 

Oh think of the fond heart you're breaking, 
And the grief you are causing me to see? 
Refrain: 

4 From this valley they say you are going; 
When you go, may your darling go too? 
Would you leave her behind unprotected 
When she loves no other but you? 
Refrain: 



5 I have promised you, darling, that never 
Will a word from my lips cause you pain; 
And my life, it will be yours forever 

If you only will love me again. 
Refrain: 

6 Must the past with its joys be blighted 
By the future of sorrow and pain, 

And the vows that was spoken be slighted? 
Don't you think you can love me again? 
Refrain: 

7 As you go to your home by the ocean, 
May you never forget those sweet hours, 
That we spent in Red Ri\cr Valley, 

And the love we exchanged 'mid the flowers. 
Refrain: 

8 There never could be such a longing 
In the heart of a pure maiden's breast, 
That dwells in the heart you are breaking 
As I wait in my home in the West. 
Refrain: 

9 And the dark maiden's prayer for her lover 
To the Spirit that rules over the world; 
May his pathway be ever in sunshine, 

Is the prayer of the lied River girl. 
Refrain: 




181 



LIZA JANE 



The mountains arc friendly and homelike to many who live there. Gilbert R. Combs tells of 
men leaving for a year or two of " ranching it " on the western plains, and then straggling back saying 
of the flat prairies and level horizons, "It was too lonesome, too 1-o-n-e-s-o-m-e." They have their 
own ways. Some are told of in these lines from men who are a law unto themselves. There are 
as many Liza songs in the Appalachian mountains as there are species of trees on the slopes of that 
range. The one in text A is called Liza Jane and the one in text B is known as Mountain Top. 



_/.. 



Arr. A. G. W. 






I'll 



mf) 



up 



on the moun - tain top, And plant me a patch of 



JEE 




3 g 

" ~m. ' ' *i *' , 

~ ' p ** '-' "^ 



/ 






cane, I'll make me a jug of mo - las - scs, For to 




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sweet - en lit - tie Li - za Jane. 



O po* Li - za, po' gal, 




LIZA JANE 



3=F=? 






O po' Li - za Jane, 



O po' Li - za, po' gal, She died on the train. 




1 1*11 go up on the mountain top, 
And plant me a patch of cane, 
I'll make me a jug of molasses, 
For to sweeten little Liza Jane. 

Refrain: 

O po' Liza, po' gal, 
O po' Liza Jane, 
O po' Liza, po' gal, 
She died on the train. 

2 I'll go up on the mountain top, 
Put up my moonshine still, 

I'll make you a quart of old moonshine, 

For just one dollar bill. 

Refrain: 

3 Head Is like a coffee pot, 
Nose is like a spout, 

Her mouth is like an old fire-place, 
With the ashes all raked out. 
Refrain: 

4 I went to see my Liza Jane, 
She was standing in the door, 

Her shoes and stockings in her hand, 
And her feet all over the floor. 
Refrain: 



5 The hardest work that ever I did, 
Was a-brakin* on the train, * 
The easiest work that ever I did, 
Wiw a-huggin' little Liza Jane. 
Refrain: 

B 
MOUNTAIN TOP 

1 I'll go up on the mountain top 
And grow me a patch of cane, 

I'll make me a jug of molasses too, 
For to sweeten up Liza Jane. 

2 Come along, sweet Liza Jane, 
Just come along with me, 

We'll go up on the mountain top, 
Some pleasures there to see. 

3 I'll go up on this mountain top 
Put out me a moonshine still, 

I'll sell you a quart of old moonshine 
Just for a one dollar bill. 

4 I will eat when I am hungry 
And drink when I am dry, 
If a tree don't fall on me 
I'll live until I die. 



133 



NEGRO REEL 



This mountain piece comes from Neeta Marquis of Los Angeles, California, who recalls the 
singing of it in her family when she was a girl. It was a traditional tune of Kentucky and Tennessee 
that her father said went hack to the Eigh teen-forties. Alfred Wathall points out that the tune 
derives from an old English contra dance air. 

Air. A. G. W. 

Lively 



Laws - a - mas - soy, what have you done? You've mar - ried the old man in - 



/ 



BS.JL- 



tfr- 
T - 



m 



steud of his son! His legs arc all crook - ed and wrong put on, They're 

-h ,,,-J 



.r- 



^ piu lento 



all a -laugh-ing at your old man. Now you're mar-ried you must o- bey. You 







184 



NEGRO REEL 



rtt. poco apoco 




must prove true to all you say. And as you have prom-ised, so 




now you must do, Kiss him 






twice and 

EfeSSH 



hug him too. 




- 



1 



1 Laws-a-massey, what have you done? 

You've married the old man instead of his son! 
His legs are all crooked and wrong put on, 
They're all a-laughing at your old man. 



2 Now you're married you must obey. 
You must prove true to all you say. 
And as you have promised, so now you must do, 
Kiss him twice and hug him, too. 




196 



ONE MORNING IN MAY 



This is a mountain dance tune. One can see feet and fiddles, the bowing of lovers looking into 
each other's eyes, the exchange of glances as they go circling in "all hands around." Such a song 
was particularly useful when the fiddler failed to show up or went out of commission with a heavy 
cargo of "corn." This lineal descendant of old British balladry has many variants in America; 
an instance of certain English folk-songs which have a wider variety of text and tunes in the Ap- 
palachian Mountains of the United States than are to be found in the British Isles. The musical 
design here is cunning, and the skill of it grows on us as we become more familiar with it. This 
was heard by Gilbert R. Combs in his Pine Mountain years. He gives us two texts, One Morning 
In May and The Troubled Soldier, both of which can be managed to the one tune. 

An-. A. G. W. 



Moderate 




" '" JJTT ""is " 

t ~ p ...---..- r.T^T -|i 

-^3^_-._J^_jL_-^L. 



One morn -' ing, one morn - ing, one morn - ing 

Ii?L 



^%= E 3 E HI= 



n 



May 







met a fair cou - pie a - mak- ing their way, And one was a maid - en so 




bright and ao fair, And the oth - er was a sol - dier and a brave vol - un - teer. 
tr 



MORNING IN MAY 

A 

1 One morning, one morning, one morning in May 
I met a fair couple a-making their way, 

And one was a maiden so bright and so fair, 

And the other was a soldier and a brave volunteer. 

2 Good morning, good morning, good morning to thee, 
where are you going my pretty lady? 

O I am a-going to the banks of the sea, 

To see the waters gliding, hear the nightingale sing. 

3 We hadn't been a-standing but a minute or two 
When out from his knapsack a fiddle he drew, 

And the tune that he played made the valleys all ring, 
see the waters gliding, hear the nightingale sing. 

4 Pretty lady, pretty lady, it's time to give o'er, 
no, pretty soldier, please play one tune more, 

I'd rather hear your fiddle or the touch of one string 
Than to sec the waters gliding, hear the nightingale sing. 

5 Pretty .soldier, pretty soldier, will you marry me? 

no, pretty lady, that never can be; 

I've a wife in old London and children twice three; 
Two wives in the army's too many for me. 

6 I'll go back to London and stay there one year 
And often I'll think of you my little dear, 

If ever I return, 'twill be in the spring 

To see the waters gliding, hear the nightingale sing. 

B 
THE TROUBLED SOLDIER 

1 It was in the lovely month of May, 

1 heard a poor soldier lamenting and say, 

I heard a poor soldier lamenting and moan, 

"I am a troubled soldier, no friend and no home.** 

2 O Mary, Mary, 'twas for your sake alone 
I left my poor father and mother at home, 

I left my poor father, my mother to roam, 
I am a troubled soldier, no friend and no home* 



137 



THE TROUBLED SOLDIER 

8 I'm troubled in trouble, I'm troubled, and why? 
If trouble don't kill me I know I'll never die. 
If Jamis don't hear me and help me to moan, 
I am a troubled soldier, no friend and no home. 

4 Go build me a castle on yon mountain high, 

Where the wild geese can hear me as they do pass by, 
Where the turtle dove can hear me and help me to mourn, 
I am a troubled soldier, no friend and no home. 

5 Don't you remember on one Friday night, 
While by your side I sat, you said 

You loved me, and my heart laid in your breast, 
And if you didn't get married you never could rest? 

Adieu to Old Kentucky I never more expect to see, 
For love and misfortune has called me away, 
For love and misfortune has called me to mourn, 
I am a troubled soldier, no friend and no home. 




POST-RAIL SONG 

The post-mil fence in Kentucky has posts with holes bored in them, through which the fence 
rails run. Fence-builders chant these lines to the swing of their bodies as they "put 'em up solid.'* 
We have this on the authority of Charles Hoening of the University of Rochester faculty. He 
grew up in the blue grass region and when he had finished growing he was six feet four inches tall 
and put up solid. 




Put *em up so - lid, they won't come down! Hey, ma lad-die, they Von't conie down* 

Put 'em up solid, they won't come down! 
Hey, ma laddie, they won't come down! 



188 



HAMMER MAN 



The negro worker often makes songs on the job, whether in the white harvest of cotton or driving 
a railroad tunnel through a rock mountain. We are told of a research student who took a seat on 
a fence to listen to the singing of a negro work gang on a railroad. When he finally detected their 
words he found they were singing lines that sounded like, "See dat white man . . . sittin* on a fence 
. . . sittin' on a fence . . . wastin' his time . . . wast in* his time." This song from the Combs 
collection was probably made by negroes on the job and learned from the negroes by the mountain 
whites. Drivin' steel is hard work; the worker's stay on the job depends on whether he is treated 
right or wrong; the idea is big enough for a song whose tempo is hammer swing rhythms. 

L G. W. 




-J-- 



SEEEE= 



Driv - in' steel, 



driv - in* steel, 



Driv -in* steel, boys, Is hard work, I 





know; Driv- in' steel, driv - in* steel, driv-in* stoel, boys^Is hard work,_I know. 

].. r j~ !- 





1 Drivin' steel, driviu' steel, 
Drivin' steel, boys, 
Is hard work, I know; 
Drivin' steel, drivin' steel, 
Drivin' steel, boys, 
Is hard work, I know. 

3 Boss man, boss man, 
Boss man, boys, 

See the boss man comin* down the line, 
Boss man, boss man, 
Boss man, boys, 
See the boss man comin* down the line. 



Treat me right, treat me right, 

Treat me right, boys, 

I am bound to stay all day; 

Treat me wrong, treat me wrong, 

Treat me wrong, boys, 

I am bound to run away. 



139 



LOVE SOMEBODY, YES I DO 



Fiddlers play this. It* time heat is to "all hands circle round." If the fiddlers fail to come the 
dancers can sing their music. The word "love" is mentioned in every line but the last, "Tween 
sixteen and twenty -two." It is for young folks, and has air and step from an old English contra 
dance, Wathall tells us. Also, for this we are indebted to the Combs collection. 



Con mo to 



Arr. A. G. W. 




Love Horne-lxxl - y, yes I do; love some -hod - y, yes I do; 



"(leyyierissimo) 



===l^ 






~"jj~ ^3 

.- ^ ^ 



izzjLzr'gbi 



Ixwc somo -})o<l - y, yes I do; Love some - bod - y, but I won't tell who. 




m/ - 




...j^-. 






1 ^" - -* 




Love some -bod - y, yes I do; Love some -bod - y yes I do; 








poeoriL 



LOVE SOMEBODY, YES I DO 
r .~ 5 a tempo 




Love some-bod - y, yes I do; And I hope some-bod - y loves me too. 




1 Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, but I won't tell who. 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
And I hope somebody loves me too. 



2 Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, but I won't tell who. 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do; 
Love somebody, yes I do, 
Tween sixteen and twenty-two. 



AIN'T GONNA RAIN 

This Iowa and Nebraska danee song has mountaineer and negro versions; it came west from 
Kentucky and other southern states according to Edwin Ford Pij>cr; it is at least as old as the 
1870's. 




rzrJ T: rjqfi fc____j^_-zid ..../ r ^jrrrr^rriKr'vd ._:: 

ri^^i^i^^^^E^l-i^^ Jr- 31". + - ~J 

^ t ^r ^ I 



rrj"~:j| 



1. It ain't gon-na rain, it ain't gon - na snow, [In ain't gon-na rain no 






mo'; Come on ev - *ry - bod - y now, Ain't gon - na rain no mo*. 



Oh, what did the blackbird say to the crow? 

It ain't gonna rain no mo', 
Ain't gonna hail, ain't gonna snow, 
Ain't gonna rain no mo 9 . 



3 Bake them biscuits good and brown, 

It ain't gonna rain no mo'. 
Swing yo* ladies round and round, 
Ain't gonna rain no mo*. 



141 



KENTUCKY MOONSHINER 



Gilbert R. Combs says that of all songs he heard as he grew up in the mountains, this is the 
most desolate and poignant. It wails; it brandishes sorrow; it publishes grief; it opens the final 
stop-gaps of lonely fate, staunchly vocal. This relates directly to ancient Gaelic lamentations over 
dead kings; it is "keening" of a sort and has the character of melody suitable to a wake over one 
with the lights gone from him. A "grocery," we note, is a general store keeping liquor among 
provisions and staples for sale. 



Vehemently, desolately, and with eauy sliding from note to note. 



Arr. A. G. W. 



I've been a moon - shin - er for sev'n - teen long years, I've 




spent all my inon - ey forwhis-key and boors. I'll go to some hol-ler, I'll 

/rs /TS 




put up my still, I'll make you one gal - Ion for a two dol - lar bill. 

^^ ^^ ^^ 




149 



KENTUCKY MOONSIHKER 

1 I*ve been a moonshiner for seventeen long years, 
I've spent all my money for whiskey and beers. 
I'll go to some holler, I'll put up my still, 

I'll make you one gallon for a two dollar bill. 

2 I'll go to some grocery and drink with my friends, 
No women to follow to see what I spends. 

God bless those pretty women, I wish they were mine, 
Their breath smells as sweet as the dew on the vine. 

3 I'll eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm dry, 
If moonshine don't kill me, I'll live till I die. 

God bless those moonshiners, I wish they were mine, 
Their breath smells as sweet as the good old moonshine. 

MISTER FROG WENT A-COURTING 

"In continuous use for four hundred years," L. W. Payne tells us in a forty-four page history 
of the song in Publication No. 5 of the Texas Folk Lore Society; he prints sixteen tunes and has 
many more. The following is a Kentucky and Virginia version, with text additions from Payne. 
"Ah-hah" can be "ulm-huhn," "eh-heh," "och-kungh" (like a bull frog) and, as you please. 




Mis - ter Frog went a - court - ing, he did ride, ah -hah, ah - hah! Mis - tcr 




Frog went a-court-ing,he did ride, a sword and pis - tol by his side, ah-hah, ah-hah! 

1 Mister Frog went a-courting, he did ride, ah-hah, ah-hah! 

Mister Frog went a-courting, he did ride, a sword and a pistol by his side, ah-hah, ah-hah! 

2 He rode up to Miss Mousie's door, ah-hah, ah-hah! 

He rode up to Miss Mousie's door, where he had often been l>efore, ah-hah, ah-hah! 

3 Now Uncle Rat when he came home says, "Who's l>een here since I been gone?" 

4 "A very fine gentleman has been here who wishes me to be his dear." 

6 Uncle Rat laughed and shook his side to think his niece would be a bride. 

6 Uncle Rat on a horse he went to town to buy his niece a wedding gown. 

7 Where shall the wedding supper be? Away down yonder in a hollow tree. 

8 What shall the wedding supper be? Three green beans and a black-eyed pea. 

9 Tell us, what was the bride dressed in? A cream gauze veil 'and a brass breastpin. 

10 Tell us next what was the groom dressed in? Sky blue britches with silver stitches. 

11 The first came in was a bumble bee, to play the fiddle upon his knee. 

12 They all sat down and began to chat, when in walked the kitten and the cat. 

13 Mrs. Cat she stepped to the supper and turned over the plate of butter. 

14 Miss Mousie went a-tearing up the wall, her foot slipped and she got a fall. 

15 They all went a-sailing across the lake, and they all were swallowed by a big black snake. 

16 So here's the end of one, two, three, the cat, the frog and Miss Mousie. 

17 There's bread and cheese upon the shelf, and if you want any just help yourself. 

143 



KIND MISS 



"Did she marry him for love or money?" is about as old as the query, "Would you rathei 
marry a handsome man who is poor or a man with lots of money and a face like a mud fence?" 
The answer among children is, "I'd rather have both." In the Kentucky song here we have an 
offer of marriage, even elopement. The girl refuses and tells why. . . . Ann Riddell Anderson of 
the University of Kentucky communicates this; her father, Hugh Riddell, is judge in a circuit 
of courts including " Bloody Brcathitt " County. 

AIT. A. G. W. 
Con mo to ^ ^ 

EEjfcE^fci^fe^ 




.g.. jz^-j| 



Kind miss, kind miss, go ask your moth-er If you, my bride shall ev - er be. 





iit lento r 



poco rit. 



If she says "Yes," Come back and tell me, If she says "No," we'll run a - way. 







1 Kind miss, kind miss, go ask your mother 
If you, my bride shall ever be. 
If she says "Yes," come back and tell me, 
If she says "No," well run away. 

Kind miss, I have much gold and silver, 
Kind miss, I have a house and land, 
Kind miss, I have a world of pleasure, 
And all of these at thy command. 

3 What do I care for your gold and silver, 
What do I care for your house and land. 
What do I care for your world of pleasure, 
When all I want is a handsome man. 



144 



GOIN f DOWN TO TOWN 

This is comic poetry, in a rough and tumble sense, put to a tune that is strictly rough and 
tumble. Millions of horses and mules have heard this, and the likes of it, from drivers on the 
wagon seat singing to themselves. It is a horse's earful. 




I used to have an old grey horse, He weighed ten thou - sand pounds, 



"z*EEE3EEE3EEEfe 





Ev - Vy tooth he had in his head, Was eight - teen in - dies a - round. 

REFRAIN 

4- --K- ---fcf ^J ^- : 



*- 



-m * 



I'm a - go - in* down to town, I'm a - go - in* down to town, Fin a - 




go 



1 I used to have an old grey horse, 
He weighed ton thousand pounds, 
Ev'ry tooth he had in his head, 
Was eighteen inches around. 

Refrain: 

I'm a-goin* down to town, 

I'm a-goin' down to town, 

I'm a-goin' down to Lynchburg town, 

To carry my tobacco down. 

2 That horse he had a holler tooth, 
He could eat ten bushels of corn, 
Ev'ry time he opened his mouth, 
Two bushels and a half were gone. 
Refrain: 



t~_ .. ..T,-! ~_~_i j^- ^T,,i.,'. . . _j^ _ _ ^, '_. i _m!i 

^^II^^ 



IF * ^ ^ ^ 9 * 

o - in* down to Lynch-burg town, To car - ry my to - bac - co down. 



S I had a yaller gal, 

I brought her from the south, 
All the fault I had with her, 
She had too big a mouth. 
Refrain: 

4 I took her down to the blacksmith shop, 
To get her mouth made .small, 

She opened her mouth to get a long breath, 
And swallowed blacksmith, shop and all. 
Refrain: 

5 I'm a-goiri* to get me some sticks and sand, 
To make rny chimney higher, 

To keep that dog-goned old torn cat, 
From puttin* out my fire. 
Refrain: 




145 



THE SHIP THAT NEVER RETURNED 

A Kentucky mountain version of a popular song of about 1870, we are told. Gilbert R. Combs 
heard it as a boy on Pine Mountain. The Prisoner's Song, a 1925-1926 "hit," got its melody from 
"The Ship that Never Returned" and its verses from another old timer, "Moonlight." That is, 
two songs Broadway launched and forgot, lived on and changed, mellowed and sweetened among 
the mountaineers. Years later the tune of one forgotten "hit" joined to the verses of another, 
sweep the country as a Broadway triumph. Such, in short, is the history of The Prisoner's Song; 
R. W. Gordon is to give us the documents in full. From the homemade dulcimers of Pine Mountain 
to the repercussive banjoes and sobbing saxophones of Broadway was a long leap for this old tune. 
It will be fretted on the keyboards of those same dulcimers when Broadway has again tossed it to 
the anh cans. The manner and method of its next comeback is anybody's guess. 

**, A,,.H.F.P. 

W 




^ - 



|^r 



n sum - rner's day while tne waves were rip-pling, with a qui-et and a gen -tie 







breeze; 



A ship set sail with a car - go la - den for a 





RRFRAIH 






port be-yond the sea Did she ev - er re - turn? No, she 



THE SHIP THAT NEVER RETURNED 



- - 



IP 



nev-er returned,and her fate is still un - learned, . . . But a last poor man set 




sail com-mand- er, on a ship that nev-er re - turned 



-r=*E3=j 






rrtrrftMz: 



zt W- "~~ 



1 On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze; 
A ship set sail with a eargo laden for a port beyond the sea. 

Refrain: 

Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned, 
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned. 

2 There were sad farewells, there were friends forsaken, and her fate is still unlearned, 
But a last poor man set sail commander on a ship that never returned. 

Refrain: 

3 Said a feeble lad to his aged mother, I must cross that deep blue sea, 

For I hear of a land in the far off country, where there's health arid strength for me. 
Refrain : 

4 Tis a gleam of hope and a maze of danger, and our fate is still to learn, 
And a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned. 
Refrain: 

6 Said this feeble lad to his aged mother, as he kissed his weeping wife, 
"Just one more purse of that golden treasure, it will last us all through life. 
Refrain: 

6 "Then we'll live in peace and joy together and enjoy all I have earned." 

So they sent him forth with a smile and blessing on a ship that never returned. 
Refrain: 

147 



DOWN IN THE VALLEY 



Here are nine verses of a poem as idle as the wind. It is an old fashioned lyric, simple in its 
stitches yet as fixed in its design as certain "kiverlids" made by housewives in the Kentucky moun- 
tains. I have heard the remark, "It is a good song to be singing while writing a love letter it is 
full of wishes and dances a little and hopes a beloved dancing partner will come back/* The 
text and tune are from Frances Ries of Batavia, Ohio. 

Anr. A. G. W. 

Andante tranquillo 




vcr, 



Hear the wind 



blow. 



^:^:i;:^== 

. ( _ _ L ^ (I .. r*'- ^ 

* * !%* * 



n 




1 Down in the valley, 
The valley so low, 
Hang your head over, 
Hear the wind blow. 

2 Hear the wind blow, dear, 
Hear the wind blow, 
Hang your head over, 
Hear the wind blow. 

3 If you don't love me, 
Love whom you please; 
Throw your arms "round me, 
Give my heart ease. 



4 Throw your arms 'round me, 
Before it's too late; 
Throw yours 'round me, 
Feel my heart break. 

5 Writing this letter, 
Containing three lines, 
Answer my question : 
44 Will you be mine?" 

6 "Will you be mine, dear, 
Will you be mine?'* 
Answer my question: 
"Will you be mine?" 



7 Go build me a castle 
Forty feet high; 

So I can see him, 
As he goes by. 

8 As he goes by, dear; 
As he goes by; 

So I can see him, 
As he goes by. 

9 Roses love sunshine. 
Violets love dew, 
Angels in heaven 
Knows I love you. 



148 



I DREAMED LAST NIGHT OF MY TRUE LOVE 



English travelers have said it is the 17th century language of England that is spoken in certain 
isolated mountain and seaboard corners of America. Among these pocketed populations they say 
"poke" for "pocket," "my may" for "my sweetheart," and asking a kiss, "Come buss me." , . . 
The mountaineer may remark of his horse, "That mare is the loveliest runner and the sensiblest 
animal I ever saddled," or he may give places names such as Shoo Bird Mountain, Shake-a-rag 
Holler, or Huggins Hell. Once in Kentucky a wanderer inquiring the route was told he was on the 
right road and to go on " about two screeches and a holler." . . . The independent lingo and manner 
of the mountaineer is in this text and tune from Mrs. Mark . Hutchinson of Mount Vernon, Iowa, 

AIT. A. G. W. 




^ 



^FFr-yrr 



I dreamed last night of my true love All in my arms I had her Her 




mft 



? 




pret - ty yel - Icr hair like strands of gold Lay dang - ling round my pil - ler. 

/* 




1 I dreamed last night of my true love. 
All in my arms I had her; 

Her pretty yellcr hair like strands of gold, 
Lay dangling round my pi Her. 

2 I waked in the morning and found her not. 
I was forced to do without her; 

I went unto her uncle's house* 
Inquiring for this lady. 



3 He said that she was not there, 
And neither would he keep her. 
I turned around to go away, 
My love she come to the winder. 

4 She said that she would come to me, 
If doors nor locks did not hinder. 

I turned around and broke them locks, 
I broke 'em all asinder (asunder). 



149 



DRIVIN' STEEL 



The mountaineers of East Tennessee have their own song of the steel driving man who toils in 
tunnels and on railroads. This version is from Gilbert R. Combs as he heard it from mountaineers. 
It is a working class song straight from men on the job, uttered to muscular body rhythms. We 
can almost hear the ring of steel on steel. There is heave of shoulders, deep breath control, the 
touch of hands on a familiar well-worn hammer handle. 

A little lively Arr.A. G.W. 




If I could drive steel like John Hen - ry . . I'd go 



"M 



-&" 
mf 



tf 



^I^iiiir: jlt^^fe 




1 If I eoulcl drive steel like John Henry 
I'd go home, Baby, I'd go home. 

2 If I had forty-one dollars 

I'd go home, Baby, IM go home. 

3 I'm goin' home and tell Little Annie, 
No mo' trials, Baby, no mo' trials. 

4 Do you hear that rain crow hollerin'? 
Sign of rain, Baby, sign of rain. 

5 This old hammer killed John Henry 
Can't kill me, Baby, can't kill me. 

This old hammer killed Bill Dooley 
Can't kill me, Baby, can't kill me. 

7 This old hammer weighs forty pounds, sah, 
Can't kill me, Baby, can't kill me. 
150 



THE LINCOLNS AND HANKSES 



HARMONIZATION BY PAGE 

THE MISSOURI HARMONY 15$ 

WINDSOR 153 

GREENFIELDS 154 

WORTHINGTON 154 

HIGHBRIDGE 155 

LEGACY 155 

THE BROWN GIRL OR FAIR ELEANOR 156 

HEY BETTY MARTIN Alfred 0. WatfuJl . . . .158 

OLD BRASS WAGON llazd Fdman . , . . 159 

CUCKOO WALTZ Jlozd Fdman . . . . 160 

WEEVILY WHEAT 161 

EL-A-NOY Hazel Fdman .... 16* 

H OOB EN JOHNNY Alfred G. Wathall . . . .164 

MY PRETTY LITTLE PINK Alfred 0. Wathall . . . .166 

LINCOLN AND LIBERTY 167 

OLD ABE LINCOLN CAME OUT OF THE WILDERNESS . Hazel Fdman .... 168 



151 



THE MISSOURI HARMONY 

A famous oblong song book of the pioneer days in the middle west was "The Missouri Har- 
mony,'* published in 1808 by Morgan and Sanxay of Cincinnati!. Young Abraham Lincoln and 
his sweetheart, Ann Rutledge, sang from this book in the Rutledge tavern in New Salem, according 
to old Hcttlers there. It was used at camp meetings of Peter Cartwright and other circuit riding 
evangelists, and was highly thought of by many church members in the Mississippi Valley. 

Though the volume included "Legacy" an Irish drinking song, praising "balmy drops of the 
red grape/* the author in his instructions to singers, warned them: "A cold or cough, all kinds of 
spiritouH liquors, violent exercise, bile upon the stomach, long fasting, the veins overcharged with 
impure blood, etc., etc., are destructive to the voice of one who is much in the habit of singing. A 
frequent use of spiritous liquors will speedily ruin the best voice." 

In further advice on vocal hygiene, he declared, "A frequent use of some acid drink, such as 
purified cider, elixir of vitriol with water, vinegar, etc., if used sparingly is strengthening to the 
lungs,*' 

The author of the "supplement" on how to sing, kept himself anonymous, the title page saying 
the book was "By An Amateur." He desired his readers to know "the superiority of vocal to 
instrumental music is, that while one only pleases the ear, the other informs the understanding.*' 
Under the head of "General Observations," he gave these hints on the frame of mind singers should 
try for: "There should not l>e any noise indulged in while singing (except the music) as it destroys 
entirely the beauty of harmony, and renders the performance (especially to learners) very difficult; 
and if it is designedly promoted, it is nothing less than a proof of disrespect in the singers to the 
exercise, to themselves who occasion it, and to the Author of our existence." 

"All 'affectation* should be banished. It is disgusting in the performance of sacred music, 
and contrary to that solemnity which should accompany an exercise so near akin to that which will 
through all eternity engage the attention of those who walk 'in climes of bliss.'" "The great 
Jehovah, who implanted in our nature the noble faculty of vocal performance, is jealous of the use 
to which we apply our talents in that particular lest we exercise them in a way which does not tend 
to glorify his name." 

The pages from the "Missouri Harmony," reproduced here, contain at least two songs with 
which Abraham Lincoln had close acquaintance. Dennis Hanks, a cousin of Lincoln, has related 
that in Spencer County, Indiana, the song, "How Tedious and Tasteless the Hours," (Greenfields), 
was well-known, and New Salem, Illinois, residents have told of how Lincoln parodied "Legacy." 




15* 




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^ii 



THE BROWN GIRL OR FAIR ELEANOR 

Nancy Hanks in her old Kentucky home, sang ballads the western pioneers brought through 
Cumberland Gap from the uplands and mountains farther east* The story of the Brown Girl 
stabbing Fair Eleanor, then having her head cut off by Lord Thomas, who killed himself and was 
buried with the two women, sounds almost like a grand opera plot. Grim and terrible though this 
ballad story is, the tune is even, comforting, a little like riding a slow galloping horse. It is still 
used in many a southern mountain home for rocking the children to sleep. Little Abe Lincoln, 
as a child, probably heard The Brown Girl, according to persons familiar with Kentucky back- 
grounds. This version is from the Reed Smith ballad group published by the University of South 
Carolina; it was heard by Tressie Pierce in Alexander County, North Carolina. The thirteenth 
verse is an interpolation from another text, to explain the killing of Lord Thomas by himself before 
he is buried with the two ladies who so suddenly met violent deaths. Where the singer is so in- 
clined, the last lines of each verse are repeated. 




beat ad - vice I can give you, my son, Is to bring the Brown Girl home. 



1 "The Brown Girl she has houses and lands, 

Fair Eleanor she has none; 
The l>est advice I can give you, my son, 
Is to bring the Brown Girl home/* 

2 He dressed himself in scarlet red, 

And rode all over the town; 
And everybody that saw him that day, 
Thought he was the King. 

3 He rode till he came to Fair Eleanor's door, 

And tingled at the ring; 
And none so ready as Fair Eleanor, 
To arise and let him in. 

4 "What news, what news, Lord Thomas," she said, 

"What news have you for me?" 
"I've come to ask'you to my weddin'. 
Tomorrow is the day." 

5 "Bad news, bad news, Lord Thomas," she said, 

" Bad news, bad news, to me; 
You've come to ask me to your weddin', 
When I thought your bride I was to be.** 

156 



THE BROWN GIRL OR FAIR ELEANOR 

6 She dressed herself in scarlet red, 

And rode all over the town; 
And everybody that saw her that day, 
Took her to be the Queen. 

7 She rode till she came to Lord Thomas' door, 

And tingled at the ring; 
And none so ready as Lord Thomas himself, 
To arise and let her in. 

8 "Is this your bride? Lord Thomas," she cried, 

"I'm sure, she's wonderful brown; 
You might have had as fair a young bride, 
As ever the sun shone on." 

9 The Brown Girl, she had a long pen-knife, 

Twas wonderful long and sharp; 

Between the short ribs and the long, 

She pierced Fair Eleanor's heart. 

10 "Fair Eleanor, what makes you look so pale? 

You used to look so red; 
You used to have two rosy red cheeks, 
And now you've nary one." 

11 "Oh, don't you see, or can't you see, 

The knife that was pierced in me? 
Oh, don't you see my own heart's blood, 
A-tricklin' to my knee?" 

12 Lord Thomas had a long broad-sword, 

It was wonderful long and sharp, 
He cut the head of the Brown Girl off, 
And kicked it against the wall. 

13 He pointed the handle toward the sun, 

The point toward his breast. 
"Here is the going of three true loves, 
God send our souls to rest. 

14 "Go dig my grave under yonder green tree, 

Go dig it wide and long; 
And bury Fair Eleanor in my arms, 
And the Brown Girl at my feet." 



157 



HEY BETTY MARTIN 



In the early 1890's, in the tank towns of the corn telt, few women bobbed their hair. Often 
when a woman who had taken this li tarty walked along Main Street on a night when there was to 
be a band concert on the public square, she was an object of special scrutiny. Young men would 
sing at her: 

Chippy, get your hair cut, hair cut, hair cut, 

Chippy, get your hair cut, hair cut short. 

The tune went back to a ditty sung in the 1860's during the War between the States, as follows: 

Johnny, git your gun and your sword and your pistol, 
Johnny, git your gun and come with me. 

The tune is at least as old as the War of 1812, when drummer boys beat it on their drums and 
sang words about "Hey Itetty Martin Tiptoe." We have that drummer's melody and words from 
A. T. Vance, a lx>ng Island, New York, fisherman who was raised in Kansas, and whose great- 
grandfather was a drummer in the War of 1812. The tune is traditionary in the Vance family and 
is executed with variations hy Comfort Vance, son of A. T. The tempo, Wathall indicates, is alle- 
gretto acherzando, which in 1812 meant "Make it snappy," or "Let's go." - 



Allegretto Hchw/ando 




Arr. A. G. W. 
f> =- 



i 



t ^ 9 . j,~^ ^ ^ ^ i ^ 9 ' W = 

Hey Bet -ty Mar -tin, tip - toe, tip - toe, Hey Bet -ty Mar- tin, tip - toe fine, 








Hi 



OLD BRASS WAGON 

Indiana, Missouri and Iowa pioneers had this dance game. The note following the verses 
below is from The Play-Party in Indiana by Leah Jackson Wolford. 

Arr. H. P. 









w ^ ^ 

Cir-cle to the left, the Old Brass Wag - on; Cir-cle to the left, the 




Old Brass Wagon, Cir-cle to the left, the Old Brass Wagon, Von 're the one, my dar - ling. 




1 Circle to the left, Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, my darling. 

2 Swing oh swing, Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, my darling. 

8 Promenade home, Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, my darling. 

4 Shoddish up and down, the Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, my darling. 

5 Break and swing, the Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, ray darling. 

6 Promenade around the Old Brass Wagon, 
You're the one, my darling. ^ 

NOTE. Repeat the first line of each stanza three times. During 1, all join hands, boys being 
at the left of their partners, and circle left. At 2, they drop hands and each boy swings his partner. 
During 3, partners promenade, circling to the right. Repeat from the beginning while singing 
stanzas 4, 5 and 6. 

159 



CUCKOO WALTZ 

The tune here U ancient. Saxon, Teuton, Slav, Magyar, have used the likes of it in dance and 
folk song. . . . Hazel Felman gives it an old-fashioned music box setting. . . . Leah Jackson Wol- 
ford's book on "The Play-Party in Indiana/' includes the tune and a description of the dance. 

Arr. II. F. 












Three times round the cuck-oo waltz,Threc times round the cuck-oo waltz,Three times round the 

8va. 







[ 
j ^+ 4 - 



_4 j 1 - t~ _ 

rjzzfc-^f: 



ritard. 




cuck-oo waltz,Lovc- ly Sus - ic Brown. Fare thcc well, my charm ing girl, Fare thcewcll I'm 





Fare thee well, my charming girl, With gold - en slip -pers on. 

jSjTjsF/jE 
*t^|__^|_ 




1 



<r-* 



(a) Choose your parti as we go round, 
Choose your parti as we go round, 
Choose your pard as we go round, 

(l>) Well all take Susie Brown. 



(c) Fare thee well, my charming girl, 

(d) Fare thee well I'm gone, 

Fare thee well, my charming girl, 
With golden slippers on. 



NOTE. A t>oy and a girl stand in the center. All of the others (irrespective of partners) 
circle to the left around them during (a). At (b) the girl chooses a boy, the boy a girl, and all four 
stand in the center. At (c) the two couples in the center form a circle, each boy opposite his partner. 
Partners cross hands forming a " star " and circle left. Repeat with left hands and circle right. At 
(d) each of the boys in the center swings the contrary girl, then two-steps with his partner. 

160 



WEEVILY WHEAT 

"Way Down in the Paw Paw Patch/' and "All Chaw Hay on the Corner," were play-party 
*mgs in early times in Indiana. Others were "Pig in the Parlor," "Pop, Goes the Weasel," "Old 
Bald Eagle Sail Around," "Old Sister Phoebe," "Skip to My Lou," "Thus the Farmer Sows His 
Seed-" A dance somewhat like Virginia Reel went to the song of " Weevily Wheat." Indications 
are that the Charley of this song may be the Prince Charlie of Jacobite ballads; he figures in songs 
of the Scotch Highlanders who were harassed during Prince Charlie's time, left their homes to take 
up life in the Alleghanies and to spread westward. 




It's step her to yourweev'-ly wheat, It's step her to your bar - ley, It 




step her to your weev - 'Iy wheat, To bake a cake for Char - ley. 

1 It's step her to your weev'ly wheat, 
It's step her to your barley, 
It's step her to your weev'ly wheat, 
To bake a cake for Charley. 

Refrain: 

O Charley he's a fine young man, 
Charley he's a dandy, 
He loves to hug and kiss the girls, 
And feed *em on good candy. 

The higher up the cherry tree, 
The riper grow the cherries. 
The more you hug and kiss the girls, 
The sooner they will marry. 
Refrain: 

8 Over the river to water the sheep, 
To measure up the barley, 
Over the river to water the sheep, 
To bake a cake for Charley. 
Refrain: 

4 My pretty little Pink, I suppose you think, 
I care but little about you, 
But I'll let you know before you go 
I cannot do without you. 
Refrain: 



161 



EL-A-NOY 

Among the pioneers were boomers, boosters. About the time this song came, the Shawnee- 
town Advocate, only newspaper in seven counties of southern Illinois, was proclaiming its ideal to be 
"universal liberty abroad, and an ocean-bound republic at home." In northern Illinois, the Gem 
of the Prairie, a weekly magazine published in Chicago, was declaring, "The West must have a 
literature peculiarly its own. It is here that the great problem of human destiny will be worked out 
on a grander scale than was ever before attempted or conceived/' . . . John D. Black, a Chicago 
attorney-at-law, lived on the Ohio River as a boy and heard his father sing El-a-noy. . . . Shawnee 
Ferry was a crossing point for many who had come by the Ohio river route or on Wilderness Road 
through Cumberland Gap, headed for Illinois . . . The fourth verse is probably a later addition 
thrown in by some joker who felt challenged by the preceding verses. 

Moderately, with blarney Arr * H * F ' 




'Way down . up -on the Wa - bash, Sich land was nev - er known; 








Ad -am had passed o - vcr it, The soil he'd sure - ly own; He'd think it was the 









ril. 






gar - den He'd played in when a boy, And straight pro-nounce it E-den, In the 

XT\ SV\ 




=N=^=g3 





_ , , I _____ _j ^ . - -i ^ 








EL-A-NOY 
RBFEAIX in time 



State of 1 - a-noy. Then move your f am - ily west- ward.Good health you will en - 

4- 







t f ,_ 




d^-^tozg 






"" "'..Trrmi 

3==3I 



r -g; r- 




And rise to wealth and boil - or In the State of El - a - noy. 



'Way down upon the Wabash, 

Sich land was never known; 

If Adam had passed over it, 

The soil he'd surely own; 

He'd think it was the garden 

He'd played in when a boy, 

And straight pronounce it Eden, 

In the State of El-a-noy. 

Refrain: 

Then move your family westward, 
Good health you will enjoy, 
And rise to wealth and honor 
In the State of El-a-noy. 

Twas here the Queen of Sheba came, 

With Solomon of old, 

With an Ass load of spices, 

Pomegranates and fine gold; 

And when she saw this lovely land, 

Her heart was filled with joy, 

Straightway she said: "I'd like to be 

A Queen in El-a-noy." 

Refrain: 



3 She's bounded by the Wabash, 
The Ohio and the Iwikes, 

She's crawfish in the swampy lands. 
The milk-sick and the shakes; 
But those arc slight diversions 
And take not from the joy 
Of living in this garden laud, 
The Slate of El-a-noy. 
Refrain: 

4 Away up in the northward, 
Right on the border line, 

A great commercial city, 

Chicago, you will find. 

Her men are all like Abelard, 

Her women like Heloise; 

All honest virtuous people, 

For they live in El-a-noy. 

Last Refrain: 

Then move your family westward, 
Bring all your girls and boys, 
And cross at Shawnee ferry 
To the State of El-a-noy. 



163 



HOOSEN JOHNNY 

Lawyers sat around the wood stoves of the taverns and hotels of the Eighth Circuit in Illinois 
and sang this on many a winter night. Lincoln heard it often. It was a favorite of his singing 
friend with the banjo, Ward Hill Lamon. Col. Clark E. Carr, who came to Illinois in 1852 and was 
a first settler of Galesburg, tells us in his book "The Illini" of these verses, "The improvisor would 
go on singing as long as he could. The solo is a sort of droning chant; but the chorus, when sung 
by good voices, is superb. The song became a favorite with lawyers traveling the circuit in those 
days, and was often ung on convivial occasions. It is said that at one time, at Knoxville in our 
county, when some good news that caused universal rejoicing had been received, the court was 
adjourned, and judge, lawyers, jury, spectators, paraded around the public square singing, 'De ol* 
black bull kera down de meddcr.' It must l>e remembered that this was before the days of brass 
bands and other artificial contrivances for giving expression to tumultuous feeling." 

Arr. A. G. W. 




DC lit- tic black bull kern down de ined-der, Hoo-sen John-ny, Hoo-sen John-ny, De 

^ 



^ > - + t- 3^^^ BB> _- j 







lit - tie black bull kem down dc meddcr, Long time a - go. Long time a - go, 

:=t- 



(to.)/ 




~" ^'^: n " ~~~ :. ' r ' r ^ ~ 






De little black bull kem down dc medder,Long time a - go. 

^r=^j^*^ 




HOOSEN JOHNNY 



1 De little black bull kem down de medder, 

Hoosen Johnny, Hoosen Johnny. 
De little black bull kem down de medder, 
Long time ago. 

Chorus: 

Long time ago, long time ago, 
De little black bull kem down de medder, 
Long time ago. 

Fust he paw and den he beller, 

Hoosen Johnny, Hoosea Johnny. 
Fust he paw and den he beller, 
Long time ago. 



3 He whet his horn on a white oak saplin*, 

Hoosen Johnny, Hoosen Johnny. 
He whet his horn on a white oak saplin', 
Long time ago. 

4 He shake his tail, he jar de ribber, 

Hoosen Johnny, Hoosen Johnny. 
He shake his tail, he jar de ribber, 
Long time ago. 

5 He paw de dirt in de heifers* faces, 

Hoosen Johnny, Hoosen Johnny. 
He paw de dirt in de heifers' faces, 
Long time ago. 




105 



MY PRETTY LITTLE PINK 

A dance song known in Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois became a knapsack and marching tune 
with Mexican War references* . . . The line patrolled was about 2500 miles, from Santa Fe to Vera 
Cruz; young men, volunteers mostly, filled the ranks; they were a long ways from home and needed 
a quickstep tune with a don't-care lyric. . . . The first verse and melody are from Lillian K. Rickaby 
of Riverside, California, as she heard them when a girl in Galesburg, Illinois; the other two verses 
arc from Neeta Marquis of Los Angeles as learned by her mother in Kentucky in the late 1840's. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



m* -\ : f -?-~3 


1 __n " i " i k- 


,i i i .- "i J r i 


i ~- }---- -H i r 


J 1 1 * 




cT" * -J. 99 

My prct - ty lit 


V 9'""" 9 ' ~ 9 ' 9 ' 9 

- tie Pink, I once did think That 


you and I would 




.:.. -r_j-. .n^ji t 


,- T""l T~ i 1 


- , , ...:l J * 1 


(leygiero) 


1 A 


J ^ ^ v * V 

JA .A 


TTr ^ 

, ^ s , 




L I 


4 S S 


H| f 22 


r [ 


L L 


r p ." a ; 



ICJt J-rr (--..Jri-.^. . 1 [_.f _ j- - j .pr. _.^=^-pz}r-- ^^^.^.j^T^zr: 

5.L.!L_ r:; .._. FJ^'"- f """% : ^ "-^^^ 
mar - ry, But now I*ve lost all hopes of you, And I have no time to tar - ry 

g= 




lg 




^^^P 



i 



:j^^ 




1 My pretty little Pink, I once did think 
That you and I would many. 

But now I've lost all hopes of you, 
And I have no time to tarry. 

2 I'll take my knapsack on my back, 
My rifle on my shoulder, 

And I'll march away to the Rio Grande, 
To view the forest over; 

8 Where coffee grows on white oak trees, 
And the river flows with brandy, 
Where the girls are sweet as sweet can be 
And the boys like sugar candy, 

166 



LINCOLN AND LIBERTY 

This campaign ditty of 1860 has the brag and extravaganza of electioneering. The tune is 
from "Old Rosin the Bow" and served earlier for a Henry Clay candidacy in which was the salu- 
tation: 

So, freemen, come on to the rally, 
This motto emblazons your crest: 
That lone star of Hope yet is shining, 
It lightens the skies in the West. 
Hark! freedom peals far in her thunder, 
Her lightning no force can arrest, 
She drives the foul army asunder. 
"Hail, gallant old Hal of the West!" 

In a later year when Horace Greeley was running for the Presidency against Gen. U. S. Grant, 
voters were reminded, "Then let Greeley go to the dickens, too soon he has counted his chickens." 




Hur-rah for the choice of the na-tion! Our chief-tain so brave and so true; We'll 




go for the great re -form -a - tion, For Lin- coin and Lib - er - ty too. We'll 




go for the Son of Ken-tuck -y, . The he - ro of Hoo -sicr-dom through ; The 




pride of the Suck-ers so luck-y, For Lin- coin and Lib-cr- ty too. 



1 Hurrah for the choice of the nation! 
Our chieftain so brave and so true; 
We'll go for the great reformation, 
For Lincoln and Liberty too. 
We'll go for the Son of Kentucky, 
The hero of Hoosierdom through; 
The pride of the Suckers so lucky, 
For Lincoln and Liberty too. 



2 They'll find what by felling and mauling, 
Our rail-maker statesman can do; 
For the people are everywhere calling 
For Lincoln and Liberty too. 
Then up with our banner so glorious, 
The star-spangled red, white and blue, 
We'll fight till our banner is victorious, 
For Lincoln and Liberty too. 



167 



OLD ABE LINCOLN CAME OUT OF THE WILDERNESS 



Torchlight processions of Republicans sang this in the summer and fall months of 1800. The 
young Wide Awakes burbled it as the kerosene dripped on their blue oilcloth capes. Quartets and 
octettes jubilated with it in packed, smoky halls where audiences waited for speakers of the evening. 
In Springfield, Illinois, the Tall Man who was a candidate for the presidency of the nation, heard 
his two boys Tad and Willie, sing it at him. The tune is from negro spirituals, When I Come Out 
De Wilderness and 01' Gray Mare Come Tearin' Out De Wilderness. 

Arr. H. F. 







Old Abe Lin- coin came out of the wil -dcr-ness, Out of the wil - der-ness, 




"1 




ry""^ 



--~ w: ~- --------- 



out of the wil-derncss, Old Alx* Lincoln cume out of the wil-dcrness, Down in II - li - nois. 



iirrr -^^ 




Old Aln; Lincoln came out of the wilderness, 
Out of the wilderness, out of the wilderness, 
Old Abe Lincoln cuine out of the wilderness, 
Down in Illinois. 




168 



GREAT LAKES AND ERIE CANAL 



HARMONIZATION BT FAOB 

THE ERIE CANAL Alfred G. IVaihall .... 171 

BIGERLOW Leo Sotcerby 174 

RED IRON ORE Henry Franci* Parks . . . 176 

RAGING CANAWL 178 

THE E-RI-E 180 



100 



THE 



The Erie Canal, in its day, bad dignity, almost majesty. Before railroads came, it was a great 
man-made transportation link connecting the Atlantic Ocean and the Great Lakes, a highway and 
common carrier for an immense flow of merchandise westbound and of products eastbound. It 
gave to the mid-west nails, steel, knives, scissors, fabrics, sewing machines in exchange for pork, 
beef, wheat, corn. It was celebrated as a thing of use and public utility. People were thankful 
for it as an achievement of human genius. A placid, even stream, its traffic ran quietly, softly, 
lazily. Navigation was easy. Men and horses took their jobs as monotonous, mild burdens. A 
day's travel, a walk, went with monotonous time-beats. The feel of this is in the best known Erie 
Canal song. I have heard George S. Chappell (Dr. Traprock) sing it movingly, meditatively, so 
that the Erie Canal took on the character of a symbol of life as a highway to be taken ploddingly 
with steady pulse. Railroads may fill rush orders; not so canals. To say that Chappell's perform- 
ance of this song is as interesting and important as a star performer's rendition of the "Song of the 
Volga Boatmen," might be a misleading statement. Perhaps when certain American songs of vulgar 
birth are as much loved by American singers as are similar Slavic melodies by Russian vocalists, 
there may develop meditative airs and commonplace lyrics with the significant pauses and deeper 
tintings not given them now. . . . The opening line here is sometimes, " I've got a gal, she's Big Foot 
Sal.'* On close acquaintance, one may find in the melodic and lyric statements here the gravity, 
tenacity, and day-by-day responsibility that looks from the face of a faithful friendly mule. ... An 
incomplete verse from Dr. T. L. Chapman of Duluth has the lines: 

Drop a tear for Big Foot Sal, 
The best dam cook on the Erie Canal. 

Moderate con moto Arr. A. G. W. 





Sal, Fif- teen miles on the Er - ie Can - al. 










4r~~-f &-L. 



EfeJTZ^~;j 



rrrt-in" ~r:_- 



She's a good old work-er and a good old pal, Fif -teen miles on the 




171 



ERIE CANAL 



E 



Er - ie Can - al. We've haul'd some barg - eg in our day, 




ri^^ 

. - _ J - : pjv- -- - j-^ r .M^:^.,_ 

,. 



I 



I h 
W J 



Fill'd with lum - bcr, coal and hay, And we know ev - 'ry inch of the way From 

-^ 
^ g: 







KMKRAIV 



-p-fr fe~ E b i 

4Tfe^z^fei^z^r- 



Al - ban -y to Buf - fa - lo. . . Ix>w bridge, ev - 'ry- bod - y down! 




____ 111 

- -~ 



- . . 

r r 












Low bridge, for we're go - ing thro' a town, And you'll al-ways know your neigh-bor, You'll 








i 



178 



THE ERIE CANAL 




pocorit. ** fit. 

+^fr^U. 3 J. .J. JJ. J ' 



al-ways knowyourpal, If you ev - er nav - i - gat - ed on the Er - ie Can - al. 



^ 




1 I've got a mule, her name is Sal, 
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal. 

She's a good old worker and a good old pal, 
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal. 
We've haul'd some barges in our day, 
FilFd with lumber, coal and hay, 
And we know ev'ry inch of the way 
From Albany to Buffalo. 

Refrain: 

Low bridge, ev'rybody down! 
Low bridge, for we're going through a town, 
And you'll always know your neighbor, 
You'll always know your pal, 
If you ever navigated on the Erie Canal. 

2 We better get along on our way, old gal 
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal, 

Cause you bet your life I'd never part with Sal, 

Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal. 

Git up there, mule, here comes a lock, 

We'll make Rome 'bout six o'clock, 

One more trip and back we'll go 

Right back home to Buffalo. 

Refrain: 



173 



BIGERLOW 



We learn here the song of the Great Lakes boatmen, from the years when barges, "timber 
drovers," carried raw products east and brought manufactured goods west. It is lusty and gusty 
in such lines as, " Give her the sheet an* let her go. We're the boys to see her through ! " and it has 
spray and wind magic in, "You should a'heard her howlin', When the wind was blowin' free!" I 
have this from Jack Raper, who writes the colyum in the Cleveland, Ohio, Press under the moniker 
of Josh Wise. He had served as marine editor of the Cleveland Plaindealer about the same time I 
was marine editor of the Milwaukee Journal. Our reunion was not as two old sea dogs but as two 
old marine editors. The piece is related to "The Bigler," sung on the Great Lakes and among 
lumberjacks. 

Arr. L. S. 




'Twasone Oc-to- her inorn-iri' That I seen a wond'rous sight; 



Twos the 



mzte^gz&E 




tini - bcr drov- er Big -er-low, A - hail - in' from De -trite. 



m= 



Watch her! 




?-3r-.**s 
+ 3^. 






Catch her! Jump up in her Ju-ju -ba-ju! Give her the sheet an' let her go,We're the 



BIGERLOW 




f j J JiJ. 



r *c cir JJ 






boys to see her through! You should a' heard her howlin' When the wind was blow- in* 










i 



free! 



'Twas on the trip to Buf-fa-lo from Mil - wau - keel 



fcl 







'Twos one October mornin' 

That I seen a wond'rous sight; 

'Twas the timber drover Bigerlow 

A-hailin' from Detrite. 

Watch her! Catch her! 

Jump up in her Jujubaju! 

Give her the sheet an' let her go 

We're the boys to see her through! 

You should a f heard her howlin' 

When the wind was blowin' free! 

Twas on the trip to Buffalo from Milwaukee! 




i 




175 



RED IRON ORE 



Three of the Great Lakes (see any atlas) are traversed In this odyssey of red iron ore. It is a 
log, the diary of a ship and its men on one cruise. The facts are specific. The E. C. Roberts was a 
boat. So was The Minch. Riding up Lake Michigan, they passed through death's door; the lake 
storms were ugly. At Escanaba loading red ore, they "looked like red devils." The crew of The 
Minch thumbed their noses and taunted, "We'll see you in Cleveland next Fourth of July." But 
the E. C. Roberts got there ahead of the fleet. A crew of "bold boys" they were, even if they say so 
themselves. The singer is humble, "Now my song is ended, I hope you won't laugh." The tune 
is old Irish; the repeated line with each verse, "Deny down, down, down deny down," is in old 
ballads. It is a virile song, a tale of grappling with harsh elements and riding through, a rattling 
tune and a devil-may-care timebeat. It may, at first, seem just a lilt with a matter-of-fact story. 
It is more than that; it is a little drama; the singer should know what it is to shovel red iron ore; 
the singer should know the wide curves of that ship path from Chicago to Cleveland on three Great 
Lakes (see any atlas). 

Arr. H. P. P. 




J 



Corne all you bold sail - ors that f ol - low the Lakes On an i - ron ore ves - sel your 

t^rpf^^^-f^ 




F " 



fr ^ =i= 
jE^a=.?=q|)==! 



^ 



; .. -i ^ 



5 







= 



liv -ing to make. I shipp'd in Chi - ca - go, bid a-dieu to the shore,Bound a - 

Hi 




way to Es - ca - na - ba for red i - ron ore. Der -ry down,down,down der-ry down. 

^ 





^rf 




176 



BED IRON ORE 

1 Come all you bold sailors that follow the Lakes 
On an iron ore vessel your living to make. 

I shipped in Chicago, bid adieu to the shore, 
Bound away to Escanaba for red iron ore. 
Deny down, down, down deny down, 

2 In the month of September, the seventeenth day, 
Two dollars and a quarter is all they would pay, 
And on Monday morning the Bridgeport did take 
The E. C. Roberta out in the Lake. 

Deny down, down, down deny down. 

3 The wind from the southward sprang up a fresh breeze, 
And away through Lake Michigan the Roberta did sneeze. 
Down through Lake Michigan the Roberta did roar, 
And on Friday morning we passed through death's door. 

4 This packet she howled across the mouth of Green Bay, 
And before her cutwater she dashed the white spray. 
We rounded the sand point, our anchor let go, 

We furled in our canvas and the watch went below. 

6 Next morning we hove alongside the Exile, 
And soon was made fast to an iron ore pile, 
They lowered their chutes and like thunder did roar, 
They spouted into us that red iron ore. 

6 Some sailors took shovels while others got spades, 
And some took wheelbarrows, each man to his trade. 
We looked like red devils, our fingers got sore, 

We cursed Escanaba and that damned iron ore. 

7 The tug Escanaba she towed out the Minch, 
The Roberts she thought she had left in a pinch, 
And as she passed by us she bid us good-bye, 

Saying, "We'll meet you in Cleveland next Fourth of July!" 

8 Through Louse Island it blew a fresh breeze; 
We made the Foxes, the Beavers, the Skillageles; 
We flew by the Minch for to show her the way, 

And she ne'er hove in sight till we were off Thunder Bay. 

9 Across Saginaw Bay the Roberts did ride 

With the dark and deep water rolling over her side. 
And now for Port Huron the Roberta must go, 
Where the tug Kate Williams she took us in tow. 

177 



RED IRON QBE 

10 We went through North Passage O Lord, how it blew! 
And all 'round the Dummy a large fleet there came too. 
The night being dark, Old Nick it would scare. 

We hove up next morning and for Cleveland did steer. 

11 Now the Roberts is in Cleveland, made fast stem and stern, 
And over the bottle we'll spin a big yarn. 

But Captain Harvey Shannon had ought to stand treat 
For getting into Cleveland ahead of the fleet. 

1 Now my song is ended, I hope you won't laugh. 
Our dunnage is packed and all hands are paid off. 
Here's a health to the Roberts, she's staunch, strong and true; 
Not forgotten the bold boys that comprise her crew. 
Deny down, down, down deny down. 

RAGING CANAWL 

America has no more genuine folk lore than is in the following recitative, Raging Canawl. 
It goes best when delivered for a small company by a performer who knows what he is doing. Drol- 
leries lurk in every line. Only those who understand the perils of deep canal life can untie the 
hawsers of foolery here. The word "canal" is to be pronounced "canawl" so as to rhyme with 
"squall." 

1 Come, listen to my story, ye landsmen, one and all, 
And I'll sing to you the dangers of that raging canal; 
For I am one of many who expects a watery grave, 
For I've been at the mercies of the winds and the waves. 

8 I left Albany harbor about the break of day, 

If rightly I remember, 'twas the second day of May; 
We trusted to our driver, altho' he was but small, 
Yet he knew all the windings of that raging canal. 

8 It seemed as if the devil had work in hand that night. 

For our oil it was all gone, and our lamps they gave no light; 
The clouds began to gather, and the rain began to fall, 
And I wished myself off of that raging canal. 

4 The Captain told the driver to hurry with all speed, 

And his orders were obeyed, for he soon cracked up his lead; 
With the fastest kind of towing we allowed by twelve o'clock, 
We should be in old Schenectady, right bang against the dock. 

5 But sad was the fate of our poor devoted bark, 

For the rain kept a-pouring faster, and the night it grew more dark, 
The horses gave a stumble, and the driver gave a squall. 
And they tumbled head and heels into that raging canal. 

178 



RAGING CANAWL 

6 The Captain came on deck, with a voice so clear and sound, 

Ciying, "Cut the horses loose, my boys, or I swear we'll all be drowned I 9 
The driver paddled to the shore, altho* he was but small, 
While the horses sank to rise no more in that raging canal. 

7 The cook she wrung her bands, and she came upon the deck, 
Saying: "Alas! what will become of us, our boat it is a wreck?" 
The steersman laid her over, for he was a man of sense, 

When the bowsman jumped ashore he lashed her to the fence. 

8 We had a load of Dutch, and we stowed them in the hole, 

They were not the least concerned about the welfare of their soul; 

The Captain went below and implored them for to pray, 

But the only answer he could get was, "Nix come rous, nix fis staa." 

9 The Captain came on deck with a spyglass in his hand, 
But the night it was so dark he could not diskiver land; 

He said to us with a faltering voice, while tears began to fall, 
"Prepare to meet your death, my boys, this night on the canal/* 

10 The cook, she being kind-hearted, she loaned us an old dress, 
Which we raised upon a setting pole as a signal of distress; 
We agreed with restoration, aboard the boat to hide, 

And never quit her deck whilst a plank hung to her side. 

11 It was our good fortune about the break of day, 

The storm it did abate, and a boat came by that way; 
Our signal was discovered, and they hove alongside. 
And we all jumped aboard and for Buffalo did ride. 

12 I landed in Buffalo about twelve o'clock, 

The first place I went to was down to the dock; 

I wanted to go up the lake, but it looked rather squally, 

When along came Fred Emmons and his friend, Billy Bally. 

13 Says Fred, "How do you do, and whar have you been so long?" 
Says I, "For the last fortnight I've been on the canal; 

For it stormed all the time, and thar was the devil to pay. 
When we got in Tonawandy Creek we thar was cast away." 

14 "Now," says Fred, "Let me tell you how to manage wind and weather, 
In a storm hug to the towpath, a&4 then lay feather to feather; 

And when the weather is bad, and the wind it blows a gale, 
Just jump ashore, knock down a horse that's taking in a sail. 

15 And if you wish to see both sides of the canal, 

To steer your course to Buffalo, and that right true and well, 

And it be so foggy that you cannot see the track, 

Just call the driver aboard and hitch a lantern on his back," 



THE E-RI-E 



When hard work and the monotony of life overshadowed the souls on the Erie Canal, the crew 
did what so many sailors and longshoremen ever have done. They took to drink and to song and 
to hopes for an end of the voyage, to voicing in a tune their feelings about how life used them up and 
left them unsung and unwept. The preacher, Koheleth, who sings so rhythmically in the Book of 
Ecclesiastes, ''Vanity of vanities, all is vanity/' or Omar in his short-spoken pessimism, arrive at a 
philosophy somewhat like that sung here. Some might call it "realistic in the method of approach." 
It tries for laughter at monotony and fate. We have this text and tune from Robert Wolfe and 
Oliver R. Barrett of Chicago. The canal's name is enunciated in three syllables, viz., "E-ri-e." 




J J J jU. /XT^ JJ J PS 



re were for - ty miles from Al - ba - ny t For - get it 



nev - er shall, What a 
REFRAIN 



^ 



J J- JU 



W 

Oh the 



ter - ri - ble storm we had one night On the E-ri-e Ca - nal. 



J J 



E-ri-e was a -ns- ing] The gin was get -ting low And I scarce -ly think We'll 




*=* 






^rj^J^ 






get a drink Till we get to Buf - fa - lo, . . Till we get to Buf - fa - lo. 

1 We were forty miles from Albany, 
Forget it I never shall, 

What a terrible storm we had one night 
On the E-ri-e Canal. 

Refrain: 

Oh the E-ri-e was a-rising 
The gin was getting low 

And I scarcely think 

We'll get a drink 
Till we get to Buffalo, 
Till we get to Buffalo. 

2 We were loaded down with barley, 
We were chuck up full of rye; 

And the captain he looked down at me 
With his goddam wicked eye. 
Refrain: 

S Oh the girls are in the Police Gazette, 
The crew are all in jail; 
I'm the only living sea cook's son 
That's left to tell the tale. 
Refrain: 

180 



HOBO SONGS 



BARMOKUATION BT PAQB 

SHOVELLIN' IRON ORB Alfred 0. Waihatt .... 188 

HALLELUJAH, I'M A BUM! Henry Joslyn .... 184 

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP, KEEP ON A- TRAM PING 185 

THE DYING HOGGER Alfred 0. Waihatt .... 186 

WANDERIN' Hazd Fclman .... 188 

A. R. u Henry Francis Parks . . . 100 

WE ARE FOUR BUMS Elizabeth Marshall . . . 19 



181 



SHOVELL1N' IRON ORE 



"I got a snootful of it and I'll never go back/' a fellow coal shoveler told me once in Omaha. 
He was speaking of iron ore, heavier, dirtier, more infiltrating than coal dust. , . . Those who sing 
this usually hook it up with We Are Four Bums. 

Arr. A, G. W. 

I 









J J J-rr? 



3 



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Some - thing hap- pened the oth - er day, that nev - er hap - pened be - 

staccato 



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pocof 







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3=3=3EES=3 



JEEVES 



fore. A man tried to get me to shov - el i - ron ore. Says 



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g=^ 



I, "Old man now what will you pay? "Says he, "Two bits a ton." Says 










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1 J J-i-J 1 * +- 



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I, "Old man, go did - die your -self, 



I'd rath - er bum." 



1 



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&rtt 

'_^. mF 



183 



HALLELUJAH, I'M A BUM! 



This old song heard at the water tanks of railroads in Kansas in 1807 and from harvest hands 
who worked in the wheat fields of Pawnee County, was picked up later by the I. W. W.'s, who 
made verses of their own for it, and gave it a wide fame. The migratory workers are familiar with 
the Salvation Army missions, and have adopted the Army custom of occasionally abandoning all 
polite formalities and striking deep into the common things and ways for their music and words. 
A "handout" is food handed out from a back door as distinguished from "a sit down" which means 
an entrance into a house and a chair at a table. 

Arr. H. J. 
Not too f Mt 



J 



p ir r r iL-c^ 



r 



Oh, why don't you work Like oth-er men do? How the hell can I work When there's 





f 

1 



no work to do? Hal - le - lu - jah, I'm a bum, Hal - le - lu - jah, bum a - 






Pin 

















gain, Hal-le - lu - jah, give us a hand-out, To re - vive us a - gain! gain! 

J |_ 



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i 





s 






^ 



3 







184 



HALLELUJAH, I'M A BUM 



1 Oh, why don't you work 
Like other men do? 
How the hell can I work 
When there's no work to do? 

Hallelujah, I'm a bum, 
Hallelujah, bum again, 
Hallelujah, give us a handout, 
To revive us again. 

2 Oh, I love my boss 
And my boss loves me, 
And that is the reason 
I'm so hungry, 

Hallelujah, etc. 

3 Oh, the springtime has came 
And I'm just out of jail, 
Without any money, 
Without any bail. 

Hallelujah, etc. 



4 I went to a house, 

And I knocked on the door; 
A lady came out, says, 
- You been here before." 
Hallelujah, etc. 

5 I went to a house, 

And I asked for a piece of bread; 
A lady came out, says, 
"The baker is dead." 
Hallelujah, etc. 

6 When springtime docs come, 
O won't we have fun, 
We'll throw up our jobs 
And we'll go on the bum. 

Hallelujah, etc. 



TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP, KEEP ON A-TRAMPING 

When W. P. Webb asked two hobos in the lockup in Cuero, Texas, "Where you from?" one 
shrugged his shoulders and said, "Oh, everywhere. We've been from the Atlantic to the Pacific, so 
we can't say where we're from." Then came an afterthought, "We been everywhere looking for 
work, and never able to find it." In Denver they had picked up an I. W. W. song to the tune of 
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching. 

1 He walked up and down the street 'till the shoes fell off his feet, 

Across the street he spied a lady cooking stew. And he said, " How do you do, 
May I chop some wood for you?" But what the lady told him made him feel so blue. 

Refrain: 

"Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-trampin', There is nothing here for you; 
If I catch you round again, You will wear the ball and chain, 
Keep a-trampin', that's the best thing you can do." 

2 Across the street a sign he read, "Work for Jesus," so it said. 

And he said, "Here is my chance, I'll surely try." And he kneeled upon the floor 
Until his knees got rather sore, But at eating time he heard the preacher cry: 
Refrain: 

S Down the street he met a cop, And the copper made him stop, 
And he said: "When did you blow into town?" And he took him to the judge, 
But the judge he said, "Ah fudge! Bums that have no money need not come around. 
Refrain: 

185 



THE DYING HOGGER 



Once on a newspaper assignment during the copper mine strike in the Calumet region, I spent 
an hour with a "wobbly" who had been switchman, cowboy, jailbird. He sang this song. . . . 
"Hogger " is railroad slang for an engineer or " boghead," while a " tallow-pot " is a fireman. " Snake" 
and "stinger" are pet names among switchmen and brakemen, whose two brotherhood organizations 
during a number of years have antagonized each other and engaged in jurisdictional disputes. 



8o8tenuto 



Arr. A. G. W. 



-rt~T 






S 






A hog - ger on his death -bed lay. His life was ooz - ing fast a -way; The 

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PS 



5 



snakes and sting - era round him pressed To hear the hog - ger's last re- quest. He 




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said, " Be - fore I 


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bid a -ixdieu, One 

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last re -quest I'll 


M- 1 1 ' ' 

make of you; Be - 
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180 



TOE DYING HOGGER 




1 A hogger on his death-bed lay. 
His life was oozing fast away; 

The snakes and stingers round him pressed 
To hear the hogger's last request. 
He said, "Before I bid adieu, 
One last request I'll make of you; 
Before I soar beyond the stars, 
Just hook me on to ninety cars. 

2 "A marble slab I do not crave; 

Just mark the head of my lonely grave 
With a draw-bar pointing to the skies, 
Showing the spot where this hogger lies. 
Oh, just once more before I'm dead 
Let me stand the conductor on his head; 
Let me see him crawl from under the wreck 
With a way-car window-sash around his neck. 

3 "And you, dear friends, I'll have to thank, 
If you'll let me die at the water-tank, 
Within my ears that old-time sound, 

The tallow-pot pulling the tank-spout down. 

And when at last in the grave I'm laid, 

Let it be in the cool of the water-tank shade. 

And put within my cold, still hand 

A monkey-wrench and the old oil can.'* 



187 



WANDERIN' 

This peculiarly American song in text A is from Arthur Sutherland of Rochester, New York, 
as learned from comrades in the American Belief Expedition to the Near East. It is a lyric of tough 
days. The pulsation is gay till the contemplative pauses, the wishes and the lingerings, of that final 
line of each verse, and the prolonged vocalizing of "1-i-k-e." The philosophy is desperate as the 
old sailor saying, "To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then to go to hell after all, would be 
too damned hard." Text B, also a lyric of tough days, is from Hubert Canfield of Pittsford, New 
York. 

Arr. H. F. 



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Jp:SJ-jL4-W & U 


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My dad - dy is 


an en - gin - eer, My broth - er drives a hack, My 


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fi->-kt 4- 


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H 


^= d d 







sis - ter takes in wash- in* An* the ba - by balls the jack, An* it looks like . . I'm 



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S 



ritard. 






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nev - er gon - na cease my wan - 



- der - in'. 



i 



i 



ritard. 







= |3ir*-t* 



188 



WANDERIN* 



1 My daddy is an engineer, 
My brother drives a hack, 
My sister takes in washin* 
An' the baby balls the jack, 
An 9 it looks like 

I'm never gonna cease my wanderin', 

2 I been a wanderin' 
Early and late, 
New York City 

To the Golden Gate, 

An' it looks like 

I'm never gonna cease my wanderin*. 

3 Been a-workin' in the army, 
Workin' on a farm, 

All I got to show for it 

Is the muscle in my arm, 

An* it looks like 

I'm never gonna cease my wanderin'. 

B 

1 There's snakes on the mountain, 
And eels in the sea, 
'Twas a red-headed woman 
Made a wreck out of me, 
And it looks like 
I'm never gonna cease my wanderin'. 

Ashes to ashes 
And dust to dust, 
If whiskey don't get you, 
Then the women must, 
And it looks like 
I'm never gonna cease my wanderin 9 . 



180 



A. R. U. 



The American Railway Union gtrike of 1893, led by Eugene V. Debbs, paralyzed traffic on 
railways of the Northwest. As the concerted stoppage of work began, not a wheel moved on thou- 
sands of miles of right-of-way; it was a terrific tie-up, a red chapter in American transportation 
history. The railway managers blacklisted A. R. U. men; strikers drifted to other railroads, got 
jobs under new names, were detected, dropped from the pay rolls, and again put "on the hog," 
riding hog and cattle cars. These drifters made a song out of their grief. C. W. Loutzenhiser of 
Chicago met a brother A. R. U. man in the Illinois Central switchyards at Macomb, Mississippi; 
they held a little songfest; one song has verses flinging a switchman's gauntlet into the face of Fate. 
It is a gay-hearted tune asking Lady Luck, in plain railroad slang, not to be too hard. "Go screw 
your nut," in rail talk means, "Be on your way." Railway lines alluded to here can be located at 
any railway station information desk; also hotel porters are ready to assist. R. W. Gordon gave 
me the verses in Darien, Georgia, and sent me to Loutzenhiser in Chicago for the melody. A good 
man, with a brick-dust face and invincible Irish eyes, is Loutzenhiser. In the course of our acquaint- 
ance he made the casual remark, "The fellows that sing the songs I know have all gone where the 
Woodbine twineth and bcjeez maybe I ought to go too." He seemed a serene, self-contained soul, 
once laughing after singing a sweet Irish ditty, "I sing these songs to keep from goin' bugs." 

Arr. H. F. P. 




r on * the Lake Shore, Lost my of - fice in the A. R. U., And I 
**/% ^^ ^^ 






s 






s^ 






r 



won't get it back till nine - teen - two. And I'm still on the hog train 




A.R. U. 







i 



flag -ing my meals, Rid- in* the brake beams close to the wheels. 



B.H. 




Been on the hummer since ninety-four, 

Last job I had was on the Lake Shore, 

Lost my office in the A. R. U. 

And I won't get it back till nineteen-two 

And I'm still on the hog train flagging my meals, 

Ridin* the brake beams close to the wheels. 




191 



WE ARE FOUR BUMS 



If a man shall not work neither shall he eat. ... Is that so? ... A bums' song . . . heard 
among glee club boys and among persona who go to the Barber's College for a haircut. . . . 

Arr. . M. 



^=^E 

I w r mUL 



^ 



i 




i 



We are four buins,four jol - ly good chums, We live like roy - al 




ml 




i 




Turks ; We're ha v- ing good luck,in bum-ming our chuck,God bless the man that works ! 




1 We are four bums, four jolly good chums, 
We live like royal Turks; 

We're having good luck, in bumming our chuck, 
God bless the man that works! 

2 We are four bums, four jolly good chums, 
We live like royal Turks; 

We're having good luck, in bumming our chuck, 
To hell with the man that works! 



THE BIG BRUTAL CITY 



THE POOR WORKING GIRL 


HABUONIZATTON BY 

Leo S&verbg . 


PAQR 
. 195 


ROLL THE CHARIOT ....'.. 
BRADY 


. . Alfred 0. WaihaU . 


. 196 
. 198 


ON TO THE MORGUE 




. 199 


IT'S THE 8YME THE WHOLE WORLD OVER 
IN THE DAYS OP OLD RAME8ES .... 


. . Alfred 0. WaihaU . 


. 200 



THE GOOD BOY 

WILLY THE WEEPER 

COCAINE LIL 

SHE PROMISED SHE'D MEET ME . 

NO MORE BOOZE (FIREMAN SAVE MY CHILD) 

LYDIA PINKHAM 



Leo Sowerby 



Alfred 0. WaihaU . 
Sowerby . 



203 
204 
200 
207 
208 
210 



19S 



THE POOR WORKING GIRL 



This wastrel may be heard from the lips of factory girls in several scattered cities of the Union 
of States. Some sing it as if it were true and after the fact, while others rattle it off as if there's 
nothing to it but a ditty to pass the time away. Both may be correct, 

Arr. L. S. 

Slowly and mockingly angrily 



fc 



E 



=1 



p>h Jk._ K I_I.--_ 

3=^=^:r- 



The poor work - ing girl, May heav - en pro - tect her, She 




has such an aw - fly hard time; 



The rich man's daugh - ter goes 







fi -p - y j ~ 
J S * 



? 






i 



haugh - ti - ly by, My God! do you won - der at crime! 




The poor working girl, 

May heaven protect her, 

She has such an awfly hard time; 

The rich man's daughter goes haughtily by, 

My God! do you wonder at crime! 

195 



ROLL THE CHARIOT 



What would the big brutal city be without that international interdenominational organiza- 
tion, The Salvation Army? It is ready to take any popular song, any ragtime ditty or jazz tune, 
and tie it up to religion. I have heard converts sing: 

"There are flies on you, 

There are flies on me, 

But there ain't no flies on Jesus/ 9 

Reading Bramwcll Booth's memoirs, we notice that forty years ago, and more, the Army street 
meetings were broken up; singers of gospel hymns were pelted with bad eggs and worse tomatoes. 
Time has passed. The Army is respectable now, is established, with million dollar real estate 
holdings. When the big bass drum is laid flat and the public invited to throw dimes or dollars onto 
the drum, there is no outside interference. They challenge the Devil and worship God in peace. 
An old Saturday night favorite in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, and Waterloo, Iowa, is "The Chariot 
Song," trumpeted with jubilee "voices as the bass drum invites contributions. I heard it on the 
public square, in front of sample rooms and saloons on Prairie Street, in Galesburg, on nights when 
"the Q pay car" had come in. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Con moto -^ -^ x .^ -^ 




^ 



^ 



We'll roll, we'll roll 



the 



char - i - ot 



a - long, 



We'll 





CTC3. 




roll, we'll roll the char - i - ot a - long, We'll roll, we'll roll 







crej. 



J- 



i^6 



188 



BOLL THE CHARIOT 





1 We'll roll, we'll roll the chariot along, 
We'll roll, well roll the chariot along, 
We'll roll, we'll roll the chariot along, 
And we won't drag on behind. 

2 If the Devil's in the way we will roll it over him, 
If the Devil's in the way we will roll it over him, 
If the Devil's in the way we will roll it over him, 
And we won't drag on behind. 

3 The collection will help us to roll it along, 
The collection will help us to roll it along, 
The collection will help us to roll it along, 
And we won't drag on behind. 



107 



BRADY 

A Nebraska-born woman, now practicing law in Chicago, gives us one verse and a tune from 
St. Louis. It is a tale of wicked people, a bad man so bad that even after death he went "strut tin' 
in hell with his Stetson hat." Geraldine Smith, attorney-at-law in Chicago, heard it from Omaha 
railroad men. It is text A. Then from the B. W. Gordon collection we have text B. The snarl 
of the underworld, the hazards of those street corners and alleys "where any moment may be your 
next," are in the brawling of this Brady reminiscence. 







bet 






J 1 



Down in St. Lou-:is at 12th and Carr Big Bill Brad-y was a -tend -in' bar; 




In came Duncan with a star on his chest, Duncan says " Brady ,you f re un-der ar - rest." 










TStL 



Brad-y . . why did -n't you run? Brad-y . . you should a - run! Brad-y 




why did -n't you run When you seen Black Dun -can with his gat - ling gun? 



Down in St. Louis at 12th and Carr 

Big Bill Brady was a-tendin' bar; 

In came Duncan with a star on his chest 

Duncan says "Brady, you're under arrest." 

Brady why didn't you run? 

Brady you should a-run! 

Brady why didn't you run 

When you seen Black Duncan with his gatling gun? 

B 

1 Duncan and his brother was playing pool 
When Brady came in acting a fool; 
He shot him once, he shot him twice, 
Saying, "I don't make my living by shooting dice I" 

Brady won't come no more! 
Brady won't come no more! 
Brady won't come no more! 
For Duncan shot Brady with a forty-four! 



198 



BRADY 

2 "Brady, Brady, don't you know you done wrong 
To come in my house when my game was going on? 
I told you half a dozen times before, 

And now you lie dead on my barroom floor!" 

3 Brady went to hell lookin* mighty curious, 

The devil says, "Where you from?" "East St. Louis." 
"Well, pull off your coat and step this way, 
For I've been expecting you every day!" 

4 When the girls heard Brady was dead 
They went up home and put on red, 
And came down town singin' this song 
"Brady's struttin' in hell with his Stetson on! 

"Brady, where you at? 
Brady, where you at? 
Brady, where you at? 
Struttin' in hell with his Stetson hat!" 



ON TO THE MORGUE 

We heard this travesty on the Chopin funeral march sung by two newspapermen, one an Irish- 
man, the other an Icelander, in Atlantic City, during a convention of the American Federation of 
Labor. 



On to the morgue,That's the on - ly place for me. On to the morgue, 







That's the on - ly place for me. Take it from the head one, 




J J 



He is sure a dead one; On to the morgue/That's the on - ly place for me. 



1 On to the morgue, 
That's the only place for me. 
On to the morgue, 
That's the only place for me. 
Take it from the head one. 
He is sure a dead one; 
On to the morgue, 
That's the only place for me. 



Where will we all be 

One hundred years from now? 

Where will we all be 

One hundred years from now? 

Pushing up the daisies, 

Pushing up the daisies, 

That's where we'll all be 

One hundred years from now. 



199 



ITS THE SYMB THE WHOLE WORLD OVER 



This tale of love's ironic pathways, as sometimes sung by soldiers, sailors, and travelling men, 
carries its main character through farther episodes in other cities. It was a favorite in The Black 
Watch and among Canadian and Anzac contingents during the World War. The melody comes 
here from Paul Boston, John Lock and Bert Massee of Chicago. The text was fortified in part by 
H. L. Mencken and a contributor to The American Mercury. 
Valae moderate Arr. A. G. W. 







It's the syme the whole world o - ver, 



It's the 




poor what gets the blyme, . . While the rich 'as all the 




*f 








i 



1 






ply - 



Now ain't that a blink - in* shyme? 






^ 



1 It's the syme the whole world over, 
It's the poor what gets the blyme, 
While the rich 'as all the plysures. 
Now ain't that a blinkin' shyme? 

2 She was a parson's daughter, 
Pure, unstyn-ed was her fyme, 
Till a country squire come courting 
And the poor girl lorst her nyme* 

200 



IPS THE SYME TOR WHOLE WORLD OVER 

8 So she went aw'y to Lunnon, 
Just to 'ide her guilty shyme. 
There she met an Army Chaplain: 
Ornst ag'yn she lorst her nyme. 

4 'Ear 'im as he jaws the Tommies, 
Warnin' o' the flymes o' 'ell. 
With 'er 'ole 'eart she had trusted, 
But ag'yn she lorst her nyrne. 

5 Now *es in his ridin' britches, 
'Untin* foxes in the chyse 
Wile the wictim o' his folly 
Makes her livin' by her wice. 

6 So she settled down in Lunnon, 
Sinkin' deeper in her shyme, 
Till she met a lybor leader, 
And ag'yn she lorst 'er nyme. 

7 Now 'es in the 'Ouse o' Commons, 
Mykin* laws to put down crime, 
Wile the wictim of his ply sure 
Walks the street each night in shyine. 

8 Then there cyme a bloated bishop. 
Marriage was the lyle 'e tole. 
There was no one else to tyke 'er, 
So she sold 'er soul for gold. 

9 See 'er in 'er 'orse and carriage, 
Drivin' d'ily through the park. 
Though she's myde a wealthy marriage 
Still she 'ides a brykin' 'eart. 

10 In a cottage down in Sussex 
Live's 'er payrents old and lyme, 

And they drink the wine she sends them, 
But they never, never, speaks 'er nyme. 

11 In their poor and 'umble dwellin* 
There 'er grievin' payrents live, 
Drinkin' champyne as she sends 'em 
But they never, never, can forgive. 

12 It's the syme the whole world over, 
It's the poor what gets the blyme, 
While the rich 'as all the plysuref . 
Now ayn't it a bloody shyme? 

201 



IN THE DAYS OF OLD RAMESES 



In the years when Jack the Ripper was baffling the police of London with his murders of women, 
leaving mutilated victims in the Whitechapel district, there flourished in Chicago an organization 
of newspaper men known as the Whitechapel Club. Its rooms fronted on the alley at the rear of 
The Chicago Daily News office, between Fifth Avenue and La Salle Street. George Ade says of 
the club, "It was a little group of thirsty intellectuals who were opposed to everything. The fact 
that Jack the Ripper was their patron saint will give a dim idea of the hard-boiledness of the organiza- 
tion. They bad kind words and excuses for many of the anarchists who had been hanged for the 
bomb-throwing at the Haymarket riot. They were social revolutionists and single-taxers and haters 
of the rich. They scoffed at the conventional and orthodox and deplored the cheap futility of their 
own slave-tasks as contributors to the daily press. They were young men enjoying their first revolt." 
Ade, James Keelcy, Finley Peter Dunne, Brand Whitlock, John T. McCutcheon, Ben King, Drury 
Underwood and others were members. It was about the time of the Chestnut Bell, an attachment 
for men's vests; when a story that had been told many times before was narrated, it was the custom 
to give a ring or two on the bells, signifying that the hearers had heard the story once or twice. At 
the Whitechapel Club, however, instead of ringing Chestnut Bells, they sang a song. The verses, 
as given below, arc jointly from James Keeley arid George Ade while the melody is a Keeley reminis- 
cence. Ade tells us that Rudyard Kipling remembered his evening at their club because, later on, 
he tried to recall and write the words of the club song. 




In the days of old Ram-e - ses, are you on, are you on? They told the 






same thing, the ve - ry same thing. In the days of old Ram - e - ses, that 




ft ft I i>. fri~ 4=^=n 
uL' ^ y^^zSgjrg^r^ 



sto - ry had pa - re - sis, Are you on, are you on, are you on? 

1 In the days of old Rameses, are you on, are you on? 
They told the same thing, the very same thing. 
In the days of old Rameses, that story had paresis, 
Are you on, are you on, are you on? 

% Adam told it to the beast before the fall, are you on? 
He told the same thing, the very same thing. 
When he told it to the creatures, it possessed redeeming features, 
But to tell it now requires a lot of gall. 

3 Joshua told it to the boys before the wall, are you on? 
He told the same thing, the very same thing 
At the wall of Jericho before the wall began to fall, 
Are you on, are you on, are you on? 



IN THE DAYS OF OLD RAMESES 

4 In the days of Sodom and Gomorrah, are you on? 
They told the same thing, the very same thing; 

In Sodom and Gomorrah, people told it to their sorrow, 
Are you on, are you on, are you on? 

5 In the days of ancient Florence, are you on? 
They told the same thing, the very same thing; 

In the days of ancient Florence, it was held in great abhorrence, 
Are you on, are you on, are you on? 

THE GOOD BOY 

Lem Parton, a New York journalist who farms at Sneeden's Landing up the Hudson, gives 
the following version of a highbrow folk song which has several variants. 



/( bf * ^ ^ 





-) 


JK ^_j 


N . . " N ."'IN-. ^"""r '^ ^ 


L^ZIJ f t> JJ JL 




* 


'-=* --* | - 


r ...r T ,r j - : *--- 


L tJ t ^r ^t 

I have led a 


good 


life, 


full of peace and qui - et, 






1 








< 


J 






T\ | [^ 1 j 


F 




9 W 1 


^ jf m > m 4f . . . 


I shall have an 


t 
old 


age 


full of rum nml ri - ot; 


vflrbi* ( i rP A ^ ' ^ 


... .. .. 2* - tf - - 


W b Ir* V \r '{ -~ 


r p m m ^ 

y| "yt - 



I have been a good boy, wed to peace and stud - y, 



-J J J JLJE=3=3===$==3E==$ 



I shall have an old age, ri - bald, coarse, and blood - y. 

1 I have led a good life, full of peace and quiet, 
I shall have an old age full of rum and riot; 
I have been a good boy, wed to peace and study, 
I shall have an old age, ribald, coarse and bloody. 

I have never cut throats, even when I yearned to, 
Never sang dirty songs that my fancy turned to; 
I have been a nice boy and done what was expected, 
I shall be an old bum loved but uurespected. 

208 



WILLY THE WEEPER 

R. W. Gordon in his editorship of the Adventure magazine department " Old Songs That 
Men Have Sung " received thirty versions of Willy the Weeper, about one hundred verses different. 
Willy shoots craps with kings, plays poker with presidents, eats nightingale tongues a queen cooks 
for him; his Monte Carlo winnings come to a million, he lights his pipe with a hundred dollar bill, 
he has heart affairs with Cleopatra, the Queen of Sheba, and movie actresses. 

As against versions of this heard in Detroit and New York, we prefer the one by Henry (Hinky) 
McCarthy of the University of Alabama. He gives it with pauses, with mellowed, mellifluous tones, 
with an insinuating guitar accompaniment. The lines "Teet tee dee dee dee dee," are lingering" 
and dreamy, supposed to indicate regions where the alphabet is not wanted. 

Arr. L. S. 






Did you cv - er hear the sto - ry 'bout Wil - ly, the Weep -er? Made his 



Effg ^ 1 1 i ~ 






PrS-E:rrrr- 

IHT *"~-^r'.- . 
__gt 5 I 



==. 













liv - in' as a chim-ncy - sweeper. He had the dope hab -it an' he had it bad; 



~3 

i 



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1-----|r-|-r-1 ~rrr: rta r. 



^ 







fc 



n4=j n4~n 




Lis- ten while I tell you 'bout the dream he had: Teet tee dee dee dee dee, 



J. f J. Jl J 



WILLY THE WEEPER 

(veryfreeli,) 



i 



toot toodoo doo doo doo, Yah dee dab dab, dee dee dee, dee dah dab! . . 




1 Did you ever hear the story 'bout Willy the Weeper? 
Made his livin' as a chimney-sweeper. 
He had the dope habit an* he had it bad; 
Listen while I tell you 'bout the dream he had : 
Teet tee dee dee dee dee, toot too doo doo doo doo, 
Yah dee dah dah, dee dee dee, dee dah dah! 

He went down to the dope house one Saturday night, 
An' he knew that the lights would be burnin' bright. 
I guess he smoked a dozen pills or mo'; 
When he woke up he wuz on a foreign sho* : 
Teet tee dee dee dee dee, toot too doo doo doo doo, etc. 

8 Queen o* Bulgaria wuz the first he met; 
She called him her darlin* an* her lovin' pet. 
She promised him a pretty Fohd automobile, 
With a diamond headlight an* a silver steerin'-whcel : 
Teet tee dee dee dee dee, toot too doo doo doo doo, etc. 

4 She had a million cattle, she had a million sheep; 
She had a million vessels on the ocean deep; 

She had a million dollahs, all in nickles an' dimes; 
She knew 'cause she counted them a million times: 
Teet tee dee dee dee dee, toot too doo doo doo doo, etc. 

5 Willy landed in New York one evenin' late, 
He asked his sugar baby for an after-date. 
Willy he got funny, she began to shout: 
Bim bam boo! an* the dope gave out. 

Teet tee dee dee dee dee, toot too doo doo doo doo, etc. 



05 



COCAINE L1L 

We do not know whether Willy the Weeper and Cocaine LU were ever introduced to each other. 
But they travelled the same route. Illusions, headaches, mornings after, soft fool fantasies, "and 
the rest is silence." Lil was one of those who say "I'll try any thing once." As an utterance the 
song of Lil has as much validity and more brevity than "The Confessions of an Opium Eater," by 
Thomas De Quincey. It is a document that rises from night life places of Chicago and Detroit. 
Besides a document it is a song-sketch. "Snow" is slang for a white flaky dust sniffed by drug 
addicts. Precisely how and why a cocaine dog and a cocaine cat fight all night with a cocaine rat 
is hard to explain. They symbolize a snarl. 

Air: Willy the Weeper 

1 Did you ever hear about Cocaine Lil? 
She lived in Cocaine town of* Cocaine hill, 
She had a cocaine dog and a cocaine cat, 
They fought all night with the cocaine rat. 

2 She had cocaine hair on her cocaine head. 

She wore a snowbird hat and sleigh-riding clothes. 
She had a cocaine dress that was poppy red. 
On her coat she wore a crimson, cocaine rose. 

8 Big gold chariots on the Milky Way, 
Snakes and elephants silver and gray, 
O the cocaine blues they make me sad, 
O the cocaine blues make me feel bad. 

4 Lil went to a "snow" party one cold night, 
And the way she "sniffed" was sure a fright. 
There was Ilophead Mag with Dopey Slim, 
Kankakee Liz with Yen Shee Jim. 

6 There was Hasheesh Nell and the Poppy Face Kid, 
Climbed up snow ladders and down they slid; 
There was Stepladder Kit, stood six feet, 
And The Sleighriding Sisters that are hard to beat. 

6 Along in the morning about half-past three 
They were all lit up like a Christmas tree; 
Lil got home and started to go to bed, 

Took another "sniff" and it knocked her dead. 

7 They laid her out in her cocaine clothes. 
She wore a snowbird hat and a crimson rose; 
On her headstone you'll find this refrain: 
"She died as she lived, sniffing cocaine." 



206 



SHE PROMISED SHE'D MEET ME 

It is believed this song originated in Chicago, the premier meat packing city of the round earth, 
the continents thereof, and the archipelagoes of the seven seas. However, it is also sung in Omaha, 
Cincinnati!, New York and San Francisco, as of local origin. In time seven cities may claim its 
author, though it is Aristophanic rather than Homeric in style. The second verse is more vulgar 
than the first. Both are sung with gusto at all our best universities. Footballs are made of pig- 
skin. In Cincinnati, once nicknamed Porkopolis, we heard that the song "is best rendered when 
rendering lard or skinning a beef." 



Quickly 




She prom-ised she'd meet me As the clock struck sev - en - teen, At the 




L-t_JLj^ 



stock-yards just nine miles out of town; Where there's pigs' tails and pigs' ears, And 




tough old Tex - as steers Sell for sir - loin steak at nine - ty rents a }>omul. 



She promised she'd meet me 
As the clock struck seventeen, 

At the stockyards just nine miles out of town; 
Where there's pigs* tails and pigs' ears, 
And tough old Texas steers 

Sell for sirloin steak at ninety cents a pound. 



She's my darlin', my daisy, 
She's humpbacked, she's crazy, 

She's knock-kneed, bow-legged, and lame 
(Spoken: Got the rheumatism!) 
They say her breath is sweet, 
But I'd rather smell her feet, 

She's my freckle-faced, consumptive Mary Jane* 



207 



NO MORE BOOZE (FIREMAN SAVE MY CHILD) 



The phrase "rush the growler" here refers to any receptacle such as a pitcher, a pail, a bucket, 
or a tin can, in which draught beer was carried from the bar of a saloon to adjacent premises by 
consumers or agents of consumers. . . . About the time this song arose there were mainly three 
kinds of saloons in the United States: (1) saloons in bone-dry territory with the doors locked and a 
For Sale sign in front; (2) saloons where the doors never closed seven days in the week; (3) saloons 
where the doors closed only on Sundays. . . . The period was one provocative of vulgar proverbs, 
such as, "The coat arid the pants do all the work but the vest gets all the gravy." 

AIT. A. G. W. 









There was a lit - tie man and he had a lit - tie can, And he used to rush the 



j * j <* n M M 

j ^ - ' _j ~ _ _ j,.^.. ._ ._- y~~ ~ ~^ 

1 _ "" "m 'ILJ a "~7".r^~-~ ~J~~~a~~~'., .'. '."*"._- 

j.. .j. j__ ^- 

n/ 

^^Elp;i^?^^^2 

growl - cr; He went to the sa-loon on a Sun -day af - tcr-noon, And you 

|__^. ==^^^-.-^-f=^== 



~fs~_ -=^=F^7 ^=^ rarrr JIT z=: 

:r^=r^==r & -^&_ -==Jf=^ = 



CHORUS 






j^:EEg^^Ej^E^-^:t!^feg:g^EJF| : ;^g^ 
ought to heard the bar - ten - der hoi - ler: No more booze, no more booze, 



NO MORE BOOZE 






no more booze on Sun-day ; No more booze, no more booze, Got to get your can filled 




f mmrm -prr i 
pJLf----rdfer - 

1 4 1 J 




Mon - day. She's the on - ly girl I love, . . . With a face like a horse and 




*4 ___. ... - ^ A . . . 

^-] . p i ,..:f J 



I^ean-ing up a-gainst the lake, O fire-man! save my child! 




1 There was a little man and he had a little can, 
And he used to rush the growler; 
He went to the saloon on a Sunday afternoon, 
And you ought to heard the bartender holler: 

Chorus: 

No more booze, no more booze, 
No more booze on Sunday; 
No more booze, no more booze, 
Got to get your can filled Monday. 



She's the only girl I love, 

With a face like a horse and buggy. 

Leaning up against the lake, 

O fireman! save my child! 

The chambermaid en me to my door, 

"Get up, you lazy sinner, 

We need those sheets for table-cloths 

And it's almost time for dinner." 

Chorus: 



209 



LYDIA PINKHAM 

Only two of the many verses of this song are presented here. As a satire the piece hu its points 
and touches more than the surface of current life, manners and morals. 







Then we'll sing . . of Ly - di - a Pink - ham, And her 

, | i ' j j .._J 

- r~3^>^d fr -_J:^_V^-:^== 

] ~E&^*E^*^ 




IV^i 



* " ' I 

- t 

L -flf'V 

"" 




love . . for the hu - man race; 



How she sold . . her veg - 'ta - ble 




_, ' .,"1. __ __^ '"^ p fc _^ r 

:^=h=pE=r=fefefer-^E^ 



coin - pound And the pa 



pers pub-lish'd her face. 




1 Then we'll sing of Lydia Pinkham, 
And her love for the human race; 
How she sold her vegetable compound 
And the papers published her face. 

2 Oh, it sells for a dollar a bottle 
Which is very cheap you see, 
And if it doesn't cure you 
She will sell you six for three. 



PRISON AND JAIL SONGS 



HARMONIZATION BT PAGE 

BIKD IN A CAGE 213 

YONDER COMES THE HIGH SHERIFF 213 

PORTLAND COUNTY JAIL Leo Sottwfrj/ 214 

MOONLIGHT (THE PRISONER'S SONG) 216 

MIDNIGHT SPECIAL (2) 217 

SEVEN LONG YEARS IN STATE PRISON .... Alfred 0. Waihall .... 218 

WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND FOOLISH Alfred G. Watliall . . . . 219 

BEEN IN THE PEN SO LONG Alfred G. WaAall .... 220 

THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE 222 



BIRD IN A CAGE 



In the mountains of Kentucky there was sung an old lyric of English origin, Down In The 
Valley. And there were jail-birds in Lexington, Kentucky, who built and wove from this older 
song with lines telling their sweethearts where to send letters. . . . Charles Hoening, working with 
a threshing crew near Lexington, heard four negroes, harvest hands, go off by themselves after supper, 
among strawstacks to sing. The gloaming crept on, an evening star came, a rising moon climbed 
the horizon dusk and mist. "They sang that song over and over and they knew how to sing it." 




=3=; 






in a cage, love, Bird in 
Bird in a cage, love, 
Bird in a cage, 
Waiting for Willie 
To come back to me. 



-:L;;T 



a cage, Wait-ing for Wil - lie to come back to me. 

3 Write me a letter, 
Write it today. 
Stamp it tomorrow, 
Send it away. 

4 Write rne a letter, 
Send it by mail. 
Send and direct it 
To Lexington jail. 

5 Bird in a cage, love, 
Bird in a cage, 
Waiting for Willie 
To come back to me. 

YONDER COMES THE HIGH SHERIFF 

To the time-beats of galloping hoofs, the stride of horse and rider, convicts of the Kentucky 
penitentiary at Frankfort have made a song. 



Roses arc red, love, 
Violets are blue. 
God in heaven 
Knows I love you. 



on - der comes the high 




Rid -in' aft - er me, yes, rid - in* aft - cr inc. Yon -dcr comes the high .slier - iff 






rid - 



n 



aft - 



*--T~33^m 

er me, O it's cap - tain, I don't want to go. 



1 Yonder comes the high sheriff ridin' after me, 
Ridin' after me, yes, ridin' after me. 
Yonder comes the high sheriff ridin' after me, 
O it's captain, I don't want to go. 

2 Been down to Frankfort servin' out my time, 
Servin* out my time, yes, servin' out my time. 
Been down to Frankfort servin' out my time, 
O it's captain, I don't want to go. 

13 



PORTLAND COUNTY JAIL 



A Chicago newspaperman who happened to do in real life what Paddy Flynn does in this song, 
got ten days, as Paddy Flynn did, in the Portland County jail. While recovering from his bootleg 
headache, he learned the first three verses of a song there. For the fourth, we are indebted to 
philosophers at the extreme left in the labor movement and in modernist art in Chicago. Whether 
sung solo or in ensemble or melee, the ungrammatical "A" in the last line is to be howled with high 
scorn. The word "trun" means "threw" or "throwed"; it rhymes with fun. A "can" signifies 
a jail or place of forcible detention. 

Arr. L. S. 
Fairly fast 




I'm a stran - ger in your cit - y, my name is Pad - dy Flynn. 



; . --p -J --"7T- |_i 

J&. . . \~ *y*~ " ""."-"" -.C~*fg 




^:r-[S":>-r:~^^^ fc fc I '!* fr h -ft-f^J 1 ^ M ^= 

Jrrllf"^""* 1 -!:"-"^ 11 *'-H : *- T ~-* r ^^ +-=, -^^J [-iE ^ ^ J 

I tfot drunk the oth - er night and the cop - pers run me in. I 





had no nion-ey to pay my fine, no one to go my bail; So 



^ 






~ v - lv - ^ i^- 

LJL_r r n r n 



3 



^ 



PORTLAND COUNTY JAIL 




I got stuck for nine- ty days in the Port-land County jail. . . 








1 I'm a stranger in your city, my name is Paddy Flynn. 
I got drunk the other night and the coppers run me in. 
I had no money to pay my fine, no one to go my bail; 
So I got stuck for ninety days in the Portland County jail. 

Oh, the only friend that I had left was Happy Sailor Jack; 
He told me all the lies he knew, and all the safes he'd cracked; 
He'd cracked them in Seattle, he'd robbed the Western Mail. 
Twould freeze the blood of an honest man in the Portland County jail. 

3 Oh, such a bunch of devils no one ever saw, 
Robbers, thieves and highwaymen, breakers of the law; 

They sang a song the whole night long, the curses fell like hail; 

I'll bless the day that 'takes me away from the Portland County jail. 

4 Finest friend I ever had was Officer McGurk. 
He said I was a lazy bum, a no-good and a shirk. 

One Saturday night when I got tight, he trun me in the can, 
And now you see he's made of me A honest workingman. 



MOONLIGHT 



Meet me by moon-light alone, 

And then I will tell you a tale, 

Must be told by the moon-light alone, 

In the grove at the end of the vale; 

You must promise to come, for I said 

I would show the night-flowers their queen, 

Nay turn not away that sweet head! 

"Tis the loveliest ever was seen ! 

Oh! meet me by moonlight alone, 

Meet me by moonlight alone! 

The verse above is one of several in the popular song of many years ago, Meet Me by Moon- 
light. As it reached the Tennessee and Kentucky mountains and lived on there, the mountain 
people made adaptations till they had changed it into their own song and something else again. . . . 
See, in this connection, the note to The Ship That Never Returned, in this book. . . . The 
mountain lyrists who composed the verses to "Moonlight," as here given, eventually won an im- 
mense audience; desperate opera stars, hunting a composition that had a sure hold on American 
heart strings, put on its modern derivative, The Prisoner's Song, in their "popular performances," 
as the phrase goes. . . . The tune here is from Gilbert R. Combs and the text includes verses from 
Combs and from Mary Leaphart. ... In singing the refrain may or may not be used with al) 
stanzas. 



Moderate 




Meet 



me 



to - niglit, lov - er, meet 



me, 



O 




meet me in the moon- light a - lone, 



I have a sad sto - ry to 




tell you, 



Must be told in the moon - light a - lone. 



1 Meet me to-night, lover, meet me, 

meet me in the moonlight alone, 

1 have a sad story to tell you, 
Must be told in the moonlight alone. 



The first vvrtttt nervts as It* f rain. 



% I'm going to a new jail to-morrow, 
And leave my poor darlin* alone, 
With the cold prison bars all around me, 
And my head on a pillow of stone. 

3 Your father and mother don't like me, 
Or they never would have drove me from their 

door; 

If I had my life to live over 
I would never go there any more* 



S16 



MOONLIGHT 



4 I wish I had never been born 
Or had died when I was young. 

I would never have saw your sweet face 
Or heard your lyin' tongue. 

5 If I had a- minded my mother 
I had been with her today, 
But I was young and foolish 
And you stole my heart away. 



I have three ships on the ocean 
All laden with silver and gold; 
And before my darlin* should suffer 
I'd have them all anchored and sold. 

7 If I had the wings of an eagle 
Across the wide sea I would fly. 
I would fly to the arms of my darling 
And there I would stay till I die. 



MIDNIGHT SPECIAL. (2) 

A fast train, such as "The Midnight Special," means a getaway, outside air, freedom. Thcj 
sing about it in the Houston, Texas, jailhouse, and elsewhere. The verses here can with little o 1 
no practice be adjusted to the tune of Midnight Special (1) in our folio of Dramas and Portraits. 



1 If you evah go to Houston, 
You better walk right; 
You better not gamble 
And you better not fight. 
T. Bentlcy will arrest you, 
He'll surely take you down; 
Judge Nelson'll sentence you, 
Then you're jailhouse bound. 

Refrain: 

O let the Midnight Special 
Shine a light on me, 
Let the Midnight Special 
Shine a evah lovin' light on me! 

2 Every Monday mawnin', 
When the ding-dong rings, 



You go to the table, 
See the same damn things; 
And on the table, 
There's a knife an* pan, 
Say anything about it, 
Have trouble with a man. 



3 Yondah come Miss Rosy; 
Oh, how do you know? 
By th' umbrella on her shoulder 
An* the dress that she woah! 
Straw hat on her head, 
Piece of paper in her hand, 
Says, "Look here, Mr. Jailer, 
I want's my life-time man. 




17 



SEVEN LONG YEARS IN STATE PRISON 



A convict tells what life has done to him. . . . During the international imbroglio known as 
the Spanish-American War, I heard half of this song from a high private in the rear ranks; we went 
to Porto Rico and the oftener it rained between Guanica and Utuado, and the worse the mud and 
the higher the water in the pup tents at Adjuntas, the more Private Campbell sang "Sad, sad 
and lonely." . . . The other half of the song came to me at Denison College, Ohio, twenty-seven 
years later. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Moderate 



_^-^jJ=j==y==g 

4F" "~~ "" ' ~ 



3 



Sev - en long years in state pri - son, 



Sev - en long years for to stay, For 




=#*-* 



knock -ing a man down the al - ley And tak -ing his gold watch and chain. 




CHORUS 



Sad, 



sad and lone - ly , sit * ting in my cell All a - lone, all a - lone, 



SEVEN LONG YEARS; IN STATE PRISON 






Think-ing of days that's gone by me, And Uie days when I've done wrong. 




I used to have a brother and a sister, 
Who lived in a cottage o'er the sea. 
I used to have a father and mother, 
But they are all gone from me. 



3 I wish I had (he wings of a sjwirrow. 
I wish I had wings for to fly. 
I'd fly to the side of my mother 
And there let me lay down and die. 



WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND FOOLISH 

There are sailor and lumberjack, railroad and cowboy versions of this. New York, Atlanta, 
and Seattle have local variants. It is sung in jails and outside. The tune is from Albert Richard 
Wetjen, of Salem, Oregon, able seaman and story teller. 

Air. A. G. W. 

_ Moderate 



[^-,...1-4- 


~f 


~3~ V 


f ---*- 

L 1 J >* 


p[ :1 -J---- J' 


dc -light, 

-f-TI-fz 


- i^i 


5> _^ 

When I 

^ JT vi ^ 


was 


young and 

* 


fool - ish, I 

r _._~:i " ' . 


used to take 

r . . _ 

^ n ^ ^ ~ 


To 

-J:J k^f -":"":] 


mt|5 * * 
m/ 


~ 

7 


" ""-jr 


!_' 


-T-* ---V---. 
T 


.::| l^J 

*&" 


3 -.*..?& . _q 






~^^" ^ 


B&TS -rH 

L-'ll/ * C*S 


IZIZT 


-f . _- 


M- - 


:if :~. .-J :.: 


: -"-ir-- 


- . . M J 



balls and dan - ces, 







His shoes were neatly polished, 
His hair was neatly combed, 

And when the dance was over, 
He asked to see me home. 



3 As we walked home together, 

I heard the people say, 
" There goes another girlie, 
That's being led astray." 



BEEN IN THE PEN SO LONG 



Three musketeers, regular army men en route to a fort in Texas, learned this in jail in Oklahoma. 
They "blued" it in unison, with harmonics, with a chromatic harmonica. They made a Santa Fe 
smoking car melodious. ... A white man's rearrangement of a negro wail such as one recorded in 
a publication of the Texas Folk Lore Society. 

Arr. A. G. W. 
Lugubre, rubato molto 




E|EEgE^ 



EE^E 



Been in the pen so long. 



O bon - ey, I'll be long gone, 




long, 



O hon - ey, I'll be long gone. 



cres. 



i 



^ 



==* 



220 



BEEN IN THE PEN 90 LONG 



| Jijj^-^ J 


j* r j > j 






Been 


-^^ ^ ^ i>j" j j--j" j. j- 

in the pen so long, Lawd, I got to go a - 


gain. 






/^tv 


A u 






V , D 






, 


"JK U i, ^-3 






1 


|7fv" I? 55 




- , . ......... 


" " "" * - "" " ""' 




ff 



tf 








Been in the pen so long, 



O hon-ey, I'll be long gone. 



"teK," ~ji IT _l_ 1 



T- 







i 



Been in the pen so long, 

honey, I'll be long gone, 
Been in the pen, Lawd, 

1 got to go again. 
Been in the pen so long, 
honey, I'll be long gone. 
Been in the pen so long, 
Lawd, I got to go again. 
Been in the pen so long, 

O honey, I'll be long gone. 



221 



THE PREACHER AND THE SLAVE 

When Joe Hill, the I. W. W. man, had the death sentence executed on him in Utah while the 
World War wa* on, big logs was mourned by the members of his organization. He waa their star 
song writer and is the only outstanding producer of lyrics widely sung in the militant cohorts of the 
labor movement of America. Jails and jungles from the Lawrence, Massachusetts, woolen mills 
to the Wheatlaud, California, hop fields, have heard the rhymes and melodies started by Joe HUL 
One of them is The Preacher and the Slave, going to the tune of Sweet By and By. 




Long-haired preachers come out ev - 'ry night, Try to tell you what's wrong and what's 



right; But when asked how 'bout something to eat They will an-swer with voic - es so sweet: 

HKFKAIM 

=db=d^)N 






You will eat, bye and bye, In that glo - ri - ous land a-bove the sky; 




Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. 

1 Long-haired preachers come out every night, Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right; 
But when asked how 'bout something to eat They will answer with voices so sweet: 

Refrain: 

You will eat, bye and bye, In that glorious land above the sky; 
Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. 

2 And the starvation army they play, And they sing and they clap and they pray. 

Till they get all your coin on the drum, Then they'll tell you when you're on the bum: 

3 Holy Rollers and jumpers come out, And they holler, they jump and they shout: 
"Give your money to Jesus," they say, "He will cure all diseases today." 

4 If you fight hard for children and wife Try to get something good in this life 
You're a sinner and bad man, they tell, When you die you will sure go to hell. 

5 Workingmen of all countries, unite, Side by side we for freedom will fight: 

When the world and its wealth we have gained, To the grafters we'll sing this refrain: 

Last Refrain: 

You will eat, bye and bye, When you've learned how to cook and to fry; 
Chop some wood, 'twill do you good, And youll eat in the sweet bye and bye. 



BLUES, MELLOWS, BALLETS 



LEVEE MOAN 

THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 

GOT DEM BLUES 

DE BLUES AIN* NOTHIN* 

WHEN A WOMAN BLUK 

coo-coo (PEACOCK SONG) 

GREAT GAWD, I'M FEELJN* BAD .... 
O MY HONEY, TAKE ME BACK .... 
WHAT KIN* O' PANTS DOES THE GAMBLER WEAR 

JOE TURNER 

TIMES GETTIN' HARD, BOYS 

I'M SAD AND I'M LONELY 

C. C. RIDER 

YOU FIGHT ON 

SATAN'S A LIAH 

BALLET OF DE BOLL WEEVIL .... 

DE TITANIC 



BAJtMONlIATION BT 

Leo Soirerby . 
Ruth Crawford 
Henry Francis Parks 
Leo Sotrerby . 
Leo Soirerby . 
Thonald Ottcrstrom 
Alfred (I Wathall . 
Alfred (/. Wathall . 

Alfred G. Walhall . 
Leo fioircrln/ . 
Leo fiowerby . 
Edward Collins 
Elizabeth Marshall 
Alfred G. Wathall . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 
Leo Sowerby . 



PAGB 



36 



238 
230 
240 
241 
242 
243 
246 
248 
250 
252 
254 



228 



I dare hint delicately that while it is possible that neither the vocalist nor I might derive joy 
from singing as singing, yet as a folk-lorist I should experience delight at hearing a folk song put 
across in such a way that I could capture it. I urge that as a song hunter I should rather hear a 
Negro in the cornfield or on the levee or in a tobacco factory, than to hear Galli-Curci grand-operize. 

DOROTHY SCARBOROUGH in On the Trail of Negro Folk-Song*. 



LEVEE MOAN 

Both Mississippi and Ohio river levees have had versions of this one, which reached up into the 
region roundabout Pendleton, Indiana, where it was heard by Lloyd Lewis, the Free Quaker pegged 
elsewhere in this book. A sonorous lament, is " Levee Moan.*' fully equal to many Gregorian 
chants that could be named. Some of its lines assuage the bitterness of our short mortal pilgrimage, 
some have an overtone aiming at the world beyond the flesh, while others are rooted amid such plain 
realities as the iron pathway of "dat ol' K. C. line." 

Quite slow Arr. L. S. 



i U 



-J ^- 

-m ' 



SEE 



Ah'm go - in* whah no - bod - y knows my name, Lawd.Lawd.I^awdLawd! Ah'm 



m >- ."". i .- . "---, -""~[ "" s rrr - j ""1 



_ 

-T 



go - in* whah no - bod - y knows mah name, . . . 



. T. : J-: 
Ah'm go - in* whah no - 




bod-y knows mah name ! Ah'm go - in* whar dcy don't shov - el no snow, Ijiwd,Lawd, 







"&. +. ZZ. 

* * ** 



LEVEE MOAN 



3 



3SE3ES 



E 



Lawd, Lawd! Ah'm go - in* whah dey don't shov -el no snow, 



Ah'm 



[..-=7**. 

\& z 



2B 



-*L- 



^"^i"^flSs^S 



go - in* whah dey don't shov- cl no snow! Ah'm go - in* whah de chill -y wind don't 



-JT 



F 






I 



& 
- &*-^_ 



-^r- 
%- 



Tlrj~t- 

-|-1--' ia ' 
> * 






blow, Liwd, Ijiwd.Ijiwd.Lawd! Ah'm go - in' whah de chill - y wind don't 

E^^^Pi^^ 






LEVEE MOAN 



It 



^-rq^rrtrt^r-- 

z^.-*!T3ziafe 



blow, . . . 



Ah'm go- in' whah de chill -y wind don't Mow! 






r 



L! -fe 



<r\ 
:; 







:JJ 



II 



1 Ah'm goin' whah nobody knows mah name, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd! 
Ah'm goin' whah nobody knows mah name, Ah'm goin' whah nobody knows nuih mime! 

Ah'm goin' whah dey don't shovel no snow, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd! 

Ah'm goin' whah dey don't shovel no snow, Ah'm goin' whah dcy don't shovel no snow! 

3 Ah'm goin whah de chilly wind don't blow, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd! 

Ah'm goin' whah de chilly wind don't blow, Ali'm goin' whah de chilly wind don't blow! 

Note: Those who so choose may use the following "K. C. line" couplet in place of one the 
above stanzas; or the El Paso version (B) below. 

Ah'm goin' on dat ol* K. C. line, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd! 
Ah'm goin* on dat ol' K. C. line, Ah'm goin' on dat oP K. C. Hnef 

B 

1 O baby, where you been so long? Lord, Lord, Ix>rd, Lord, 
O baby, where you been so long? baby, where you been so long? 

O honey, let your hair hang down, Lord, Lord, 1/ord, Lord, 

O honey, let your hair hang down, O honey, let your hair hang down. 

8 O honey, your hair grows too long, Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord, 
O honey, your hair grows too long, honey, your hair grows too long. 



2S7 



THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 



This may be what polite society calls a gutter song. In a foreign language, in any lingo but 
that of the U. S. A., it would seem less vulgar, more bizarre. Its opening realism works on toward 
irony and fantasy, dropping in its final lines again to blunt realism. Texts and melody are from 
the song as given (A) by Henry McCarthy of the University of Alabama, and (B) by Jake Zeitlin 
and Jack Hagerty of Fort Worth and Los Angeles. 

Arr. R. C. 

81ow t droway $; 






1. It was down in old Joe's bar - room 
left stood Joe Me - Ken - ny, 1 . 



On a 
His 




cor - nor by the square, The drinks were served as us - u - al, And a 

eyes blood-shot and red, He gazed at the crowd a-roundhim, And 

,.,-f^'. _*. 



*s:' 



!M_jjie33^It 



:>.:-- ifiH 






i 

r- *- i 



jt2-ne : 

nr 



_*- -"-* "m- 

: :_*__i::_ 



~^f^ ^ 



"V~a~ 



Eiy^^^E^ 



good - ly crowd was there, 

these are the words he said: 



J. 



2. On my 
S 



3. As I 




228 



THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 






passed by the old in - fir - mar-y, . f I saw _ my sweet-heart there,. . All 




stretched out on a ta - ble, . . So pale, so cold, so fair. 




.i>~- 
>JL: 



If 



4. Six - teen coal - black hors - es, .... All hitched to a rub - bcr - tired 







^ 



hack, . . . Car - ried sev - en girls to the grave-yard, . . And on - ly 



THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 






SIX 



of 'em com - in* . back. . . . . 







K'll. ^ 






_ -^^ ^ -^ 

5. O when I . die just bur-y me . In a box - back coat and hat, . .Put a 
(I. Six crap shooters as pall bearers, . . Let a cho-rus girl sing me a song With a 






* - ( . - x- * < * 

-" -*. ~ ' ~ rg^=^, 




twent-y dol-lar gold-piece on my watch chain To let the Lord know I'm standin' pat. 
jazz band on . my . hearse . . . To raise hell as we go a - long." 



>[_ %^f '09 

_. -^ ^j^^...,^- | 







7. And now you've heard my sto-ry, . . Flltake an-othershot o' booze; If 
ritard. 

_T2_- ^~+^ I I _., _ 







THOSE GAMBLER'S BLUES 

motto ritard. 




g c c g c ci 



an - y - bod-y hap-pens to ask you, . . Then I've got those gambler's blues. 





ribtrti. 



i :r? t 

ribird. un jxjco 




- H ' - 1 ! - r ~ ---I r-*~" r= ^" ' "- 



1 It was down in old Joe's bar-room 
On a corner by the square, 
The drinks were served as usual, 
And a goodly crowd was there. 

$ On my left stood Joe Me Kenny, 
His eyes bloodshot and red, 
He gazed at the crowd around him 
And these are the words he said: 

8 "As I passed by the old infirmary, 
I saw my sweetheart there, 
All stretched out on a table, 
So pale, so cold, so fair. 

4 Sixteen coal-block horses, 

All hitched to a rubber-tired hack, 



1 Went down to St. Joe's infirmary, 
To see my woman there; 

She was layin* on the table, 
So white, so cold, so fair. 

2 Went up to see the doctor, 
"She's very low," he said; 
Went back to see my woman, 
Good God! she's layin' there dead, 
Spoken: She's dead! 

3 Let her go, let her go, God bless her, 
Wherever she may be! 

There'll never be another Kfce her, 
ThereH never be another for me. 



Carried seven girls to the graveyard, 
And only six of 'em comin' back. 

6 O, when I die, just bury me 

In a box-back cout and hat, [chain 

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch 
To let the Ix>rd know I'm si and in' pat. 

6 Six crap .shooters as pall l>earers, 
Let a chorus girl sing me a song 
With a jazz band on my hearse 
To raise hell as we go along." 

7 And now you've heard my story, 
I'll take another shot o' boo/e; 
If anybody hapj>ens to ask you, 
Then I've got those gambler's blues. 



B 



4 I may Ix. 1 ! killed on the ocean, 

I may be killed by a cannonball, 

But let me tell you, buddy, 

That a woman wan the caue of it all. 

5 Seventeen girls to the graveyard, 
Seventeen girls to sing her a song, 
Seventeen girls to the graveyard 
Only sixteen of 'cm comin' back. 

6 O sixteen coal-black horses, 
To carry me when I'm gone. 
O flowers on the coffin, 
While the burial's carried OIL 



281 



GOT DEM BLUES 



"The very essence of the majority of blues," wrote Abbe Niles, "is found in the traditional 
line, common property of the race: 'Got de blues, but too dam' mean to cry.'" . . . One of the 
earliest blues is presented here, as heard, recorded, and harmonized by Henry Francis Parks, com- 
poser, music critic, theater console player, author of the book, " Jazzology of the Pipe Organ." It 
was moaned by resonant moaners in honky tonks of the southwest. 

Arr. H. F. P. 
Slow stomp time, sensually and languidly (8t>okeri\ 



Got dem blues,but I'm too mean, lord-y, I'm too damn'd mean to cry. Oh! I got dem 



t 



gg^fei 



i i i 

PB 





Yes! I got dem dirt-y blues, . But I'm too damn'd mean to 




S3 



Hint 



^ 



23* 



GOT DEM BLUES 

(Spoken) 



1 
Ua 



cry; Yes! mean to cry. 



Sweet Dad-dy! 



Uh-liuh! 




S 




-?tt 



^^ 



s * 3 



5T^ 



5^3 ;* 5T^3^T3 5 



E:-fe^gLE 



Da Capo a? Awe ad lib. 



Trun me down! 



Uh-hviht 



^y.. 





^ ^ i 5T"^"5t i 






Got dem blues, but I'm too mean, lordy, 

I'm too damned mean to cry. 

Oh! I got dem blues! 

Got dem blues, but I'm too damned mean to cry. 

Yes! I got dem dirty blues, 

But I'm too damned mean to cry; 

Yes! mean to cry. 

Sweet Daddy! Uh-huh! Trun me down! Uk-kuht 



233 



DE BLUES AIN' NOTHING 



This blues was sung in honky tonks of the southwest in years before the appearance of "mean 
moaners "in cafes where a tuxedo is requisite. . . . "B-l-u-e"at the close of each verse is sometimes 
"b-a-d." 

Arr. L. S. 

j. Melancholy, but not too slow 



^ 



=t 



Ah'm go 11 - na build mah - self a ra - ft, . An' float dat rib - bah 



m 



r 







-j ^ -. 

*r 



~:~ ( ^r- ~f "[.' i^-HJr-^ i^^- <*-* "j 



.-7j~ 



do - wn. . . 



Ah'll build niah-self a shack 



In some ol* Tex - as 



-oir-- , 



m 



i 



=!=? 

*K i ^-T 



- 




r-=*i 



^ 



/r\ /TN 

I- . 



^ 



town, 
retarding 



M - hm, m - hm! 'Cause de blues am' noth -in', No, de 

fast 




Q^-- J"^ j 






^ 



284 



DE BLUES AIN' NOTHIN' 



:=+-JUE-^E 



7-h | ,-== 
VJ J. JW Ji 



yEEg 



blues ain' noth-in' But a 



good man feel - in' 
draw this out . . . 



b-l-u-e! . . . 



s 



i 






pH 




Ah'm gonna build mahself a raft, 
An' float dat ribbah down. 
Ah'll build mahself a shack 
In some oP Texas town, 

Mhm, mhm! 

'Cause de blues ain' nothin\ 
No, de blues ain' nothin' 
But a good man feelin' b-l-u-e. 

Ah'm goin' down on de levee, 
Goin' to take mahself a rockin' chair. 
K mah lovin' man don' come, 
Ah'll rock away from there, 



Mhm, mhm! 

'Cause de blues ain' nothing 
No, de blues ain' nothin' 
But a good man feelin' b-l-u-e. 

8 Why did you leave me blue? 
Why did you leave me blue? 
All I do is sit 
And cry for you, 
Mhm, mhm! 

'Cause dc blues ain' nothin', 
No, de blues ain' nothin' 
But a good man feelin' b-l-u-e. 




235 



WHEN A WOMAN BLUE 



This arrangement is based on the song as heard at the Wisconsin Players' House in Milwaukee, 
where it arrived through an Oklahoma poet named Ellis, who heard it from negroes in the cotton 
fields of Texas. It is an early blues, not to be hurried in its rendition; if you feel like giving it very 
slow and very draggy that is the way for you to give it; it is a massive, lugubrious gargoyle of a song. 

Am L. S. 






When a worn- an blue, when a worn- an blue, 



ang her lit - tie head and 







( , r y When a wom-an blue, when a wom-an blue, She hang her lit- tie head and 







cry (Hah huh hah high!) When a man get blue He grab a rail-road train and ride. 







j i -y i 

iri 'r """""" -"^.."i r -i j f 

( j- z^=irz=__^. ..II ndzzi jzzt 

~~~ ~~ " 



When a woman blue, when a woman blue, 
She hang her little head and cry 
When a woman blue, when a woman blue, 
She hang her little head and cry 
(Hah hah hah high!) 
When a man get blue 
He grab a railroad train and ride. 
236 



WHEN A WOMAN BLUE 

I'm go'n lay my head, I'm go'n lay my head, 

Down on dat railroad line 

I'm go'n lay my head, I'm go'n lay my head, 

Down on dat railroad line 

(Lah hah hah bine!) 

Let de train roll by, 

And dat '11 pacify my min'. 



COO-COO 
(PEACOCK SONG) 

An old negro voodoo woman in South Carolina told of all the animals holding a meeting. They 
elected the peacock to be queen. She sang an acknowledgment, spoke with music, her apprecia- 
tion of the honor conferred on her. Thus we have the Coo-Coo murmur, moan and cry, presented 
here from Arthur Billings Hunt, baritone concert singer, and authority in several fields of American 
folk and art song. 

Arr. Th.O. 



Not UK,*, 




Coo- coo, coo-oo-oo, Coo -coo, coo-oo-oo, Coo -coo, coo-ah - li -oh! . . . . 

'* rrrjg-qidr^r 



rSi 



i!$E 



f> 

te- 






&- 




Coo - coo, coo - oo - oo, Coo - coo coo-oo - oo, Coo - coo, coo ah - li - oh! . , . 




237 



GREAT GAWD, I'M FEELIN' BAD 

A desolated heart trumpets humiliation. . . . Florence Heizer of Osage, Kansas, heard this 
often from a negro woman, who, over the ironing board, could reply to any mourning dove that sat 
in the cottonwoods. 

Arr. A. G. W. 
Moderate con moto 




pocof 



Great Gawd, I'm feel - in' bad, I ain't got the man that I 



W / "-N. . *~\ . ^^> 



thought I had ! . . . 

ante t s3 



marcato - 



ftp i p-S^f- F ' & \*~ \ -,J ' v^x __l_p )_ p2 i_^i LI 

t* i t v u ^ ' v-j i *^ ^ - ^ r r^-^i^ 



Great Gawd, I'm feelin* bad, 

I ain't got the man that I thought I had I 

88 



O MY HONEY, TAKE ME BACK 



Tubman K. Hedrick heard this often from a hotel kitchen in Memphis, over and over, day on 
day. He said of the lyric "'Love is not love that too openly proclaims itself," adding, "It is a solo 
with no audience intended or wanted but one person in the whole world. And as such, the melody 
carries the lyric persuasively." 

Am A. G. W. 

Suppiicatingly r^T"^ 



qr^u-ig: 



= 



3=* 



O myhon-ey, take me back, O mydahl-in', I'll be true. I ammon'-in' all day 




_ 8 



~-\~fZ> 



long, O myhon-ey, I love you. 



I have loved you in joy and pain, In de 



7-Sji~l~ F ..^ 

gff +- _| -ji rr ^- 




espressivo molto 



sun-shine and de rain, O my lion - ey,heah me do, O mydah-lin', I love you. 

>4JSLL & A 

agErgb : . 




1 O my honey, take me back, 

my dahlin', I'll be true. 

1 am mo'nin* all day long, 
O my honey, I love you. 



I have loved you in joy and pain, 
In de sunshine and de rain, 
O my honey, heah me do, 
O my dahlin', I love you. 



WHAT KIN' O' PANTS DOES THE GAMBLER WEAR 



The striped elegance of gamblers, the hazards of the meat supply, the troubles of money, love, 
and sleep, are themes here. The verses are casual, typical of the impromptu, the "make-up" song 
of the negro, "a product of economic and labor conditions," as Gates Thomas notes in No. 5 of the 
Publications of the Texas Folk Lore Society. His songs came from "shiftless and shifting day 
laborers and small croppers who follow Lady Luck, Aphrodite, and John Barleycorn." . . . The 
tune is close to certain Frog's Courting melodies. . . . "Gwain" is more accurate than "gwine" 
or"g'on." . . . When the wooden slats, on which a mattress lay, broke and went "blam-to-blam," 
it took a good sleeper to go on drowsing. 




=fn 



=i^=- 



zz==:qffc=zfe ^- f 
i g-l-g*^ 




it 






What you gwain to do when the meat gives out, . my Ba - by? . What you gwain to 




do when the meat gives out, . my lion - ey? What you gwain to do when the 




meat gives out? Gwain to set'roun' my do' with my mouf in a pout, For some - time. 

1 What you gwain to do when the meat gives out, my Baby? 
What you gwain to do when the meat gives out, my Honey? 
What you gwain to do when the meat gives out? 

Gwain to set 'roun' my do* with my mouf in a pout, 
For sometime. 

2 What kin' o' pants does the gambler wear, this mo'nin'? 
What kin' o' pants docs the gambler wear, this evenin'? 
What kin' o' pants does the gambler wear? 
Big-legged stripes cost nine a pair 

This mo'nin'. 

3 What kin* o' shoes does the gambler wear, this mo'nin'? 
What kin* o' shoes does the gambler wear, this evenin'? 
What kin' o' shoes does the gambler wear? 

Yaller toothpicks, cost 'leven a pair 
This ovcnin'. 

4 Slats in the bed went blam-to-blam, this mo'nin'; 
Slats in the bed went blam-to-blam, this evenin'; 
Slats in the bed went blam-to-blam; 

Kop' on a-sleepin* like I didn't give a damn 
For sometime. 

5 Til be blamed ef I can see, my Baby, 
1*11 be blamed ef I can see, my Honey, 
I'll be blamed ef I can see 

How all my money got away from me. 
For sometime. 



JOE TURNER 

W. C. Handy refers to Joe Turner as a grandaddy of blues. " In some sections it was called 
Going Down the River For Long, but in Tennessee it was always Joe Turner." Joe was a brother 
of Pete Turner, once governor of Tennessee, and clothed with police powers Joe Turner took pris- 
oners from Memphis to Nashville, " handcuffed, to be gone no telling how long." Thus Handy ex- 
plained the song to Dorothy Scarborough who recalled lines: 

Dey tell me Joe Turner's come to town. 

He's brought along one thousand links of chain; 

He's gwine to have one nigger for each link! 

He's gwine to have dis nigger for one link! 
Handy used the old theme for building Joe Turner blues with such interesting lines as: 

Sweet Babe, I'm goin to leave you, 

And the time ain't long, 

No, the time ain't long, 

If you don't b'lieve I'm leavin* 

Count the days I'm gone. 

Arr. A. G. W. 





Dey tell me Joe Turn -ner he done come, . 

(Non arpeggiaudo) ^ 

IT i <s 

s======ig 



Dey tell me Joe 




Tur - ner he done come, 



+<s>-+-* "T* E 

(1) Got my man an gone. . 

(2) Come with foh - ty links of chain. 




Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come, 
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come, 
Got my man an* gone. 

Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come, 
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come, 
Come with fohty links of chain. 



TIMES GETTIN' HARD, BOYS 

When Rebecca Taylor sang her spirituals for us in Columbia, South Carolina, she was asked 
if she knew other songs, not spirituals. "When you were a girl wasn't there something that boys 
and girls would sing at each other for fun, for mischief?" Her eyes lighted, she gave a soprano 
chuckle, and sang this verse out of the years when she was young. The "yellow boy' 1 amid the 
black girls made an impression; it started a song. 

Arr. L. S. 



Tr^iT ; w 4 " ' J " ' ' 


"~Zf 


*.'" _T J """ "k.""" 


fc_ *_ J J _J ' 1 


|m i 1 * * * *" 9 i 


1 N 9 9 J N 


N N * ^ ^ 


* 


^L) ** '-.. : 


...... 1. , .. ^..^ _ , . 


! ! 


1 1 


iT 9 ^.99 999 ^ 
Times get-tin' hard, boys, mon-ey get-tin* scarce; If times don't be no bet-terhyar, 

(Like a guitar) 






































i 


1 <& \^ 

U J. J , 1 


J , 


\ n i j jc 




, 1 


*s* 




^J" " *S 






^ / \ y ^H -^H 


^ , ^ 


^ f^ i 




^ p 



$=$=?=*= 



boun' to leavedis place. Take my true love by de ban* lead her roun* de town; 











-T- 




yel - low boy she al - mos' faint a - way. 



i 
i 



*f 



Times gettin* hard, boys, money gettin' scarce; 
If times don*t be no better hyar, boun' to leave dis place. 
Take my true love by dc hun* lead her roun' de town; 
When she see dat yellow boy she almos' faint away. 



42 



I'M SAD AND I'M LONELY 

How many lies will a free young man tell a young lady? As many as the cross-ties on the rail- 
road or as many as the stars in the sky. He will lie and lie. His lies are endless. Thus the cast-off 
woman speaks of him. She wants a mountain cabin. She wants to be so far away that she won't 
bother her friends, the blackbirds. She sings it slowly. There is time for deliberation. Yet a 
phrase now and then, shaded with hate or pity, comes swiftly, almost gutturally and as a threat. 
The song came to me from a Dallas, Texas, woman who got it from Tennessee folks. 



Arr. L. S. 



&4E 



ESEEJE 



I'm sad and I'm lone-ly, my heart it will break; My 




3[fc!fcir^ 







~& :3 



l^3: 



-^ I' "I - J -~T 

- _- ^-f-d^qTq"t::r 

m. u^-.^-^ -<>-. 

sweet-heart loves an - oth - er, Lord, I wish I wuz dcaTH ! . My 



= r 



*=^*- 



er 











tf: 



~m J A ^-1 -J ' -J i ' l ^ -r"~H-^= T L-yi- _.,. 

1 1 .. ^ 1 1 1 1 , 

cheeks once were red as the bud on the rose, But now they are whit-er than the 

it i . i 



*aA 















48 



I'M SAD AND I'M LONELY 







m 



li - ly that grows. Young la - dies, tak' wahn -in', tak' a wahn-in' from 










t==^ 



f 
i 



^ 












me. Don't waste your af-fec-tions on a young man so free. . He'lJ 



W ---jt-- r i 

- f^ - -i 



:izjtfi::fr.-ii: 



gb*=SSE3E 



ai=:ie: 



M j ^ I i 



3fe 



r ; 



^[^yE 



=U->-=r4 



hug you, he'll kiss you, he'll tell you mo' lies, Than the cross ties on the 



I* 




x i r 














ft 



-=^r 






rail- road or the stars in the sky. I'll build me a cab - in in the 




244 



I'M SAD AND I'M LONELY 



r r r 



g^^^?^ 



moun -tains so high, Where the black-birds can't see me and hear my sad 

^^ -^*- b^Si! Jti<* 

^' IT A ! *S^ 





cry. I'm troub -led, I'm troub-led, I'm troub- led in mind; 



Ef 



5i 



trou - ble don* kill me, I'll live 




1 I'm sad and I'm lonely, my heart it will break; 

My sweetheart loves another, Lord, I wish I wuz dead! 
My checks once were red as the bud on the rose, 
But now they are whiter than the lily that grows. 

2 Young ladies, tak' wahnin', tak' a wahnin* from me. 
Don't waste your affections on a young man so free. 
He'll hug you, he'll kiss you, he'll tell you mo* lies, 
Than the cross-ties on the railroad or the stars in the sky. 

3 I'll build me a cabin in the mountains so high, 

Where the blackbirds can't see me and hear my sad cry. 
I'm troubled, I'm troubled, I'm troubled in mind; 
Ef trouble don' kill me, I'll live a long time. 



8va 



C. C. RIDER 



John Lomax and I heard this song (A) in Austin, Texas, in an old saloon, The Silver King, oper- 
ated as a soft drink parlor by a Mexican negro, Martinez. After two negroes with guitars had sung 
"The Original Blues/' "Franky and Johnny," ''Boll Weevil," and other pieces, Martinez himself 
favored us with "C. C. Rider," which may derive from "easy rider." . . . The Sunshine Special, a 
crack railroad train, has crossed Texas every day for many years. ... In the last line of the first 
verse the word "blowed" is given long, slow, controlled and powerful, like the whistle of an on- 
rushing overland train on a southwestern prairie; likewise the word "shine" in the last line of the 
second verse. . . . Text B is from Gates Thomas and his south Texas negro songs. 

Arr. E. C. 



^^ r 



Sun - shine Spec - ial 




staccato dots all thru 












t 



com-in' a-round cle bend, It blowed jus' like it ncv -ah blowed be - foh, 



It 





bio wed jus* like it nev-ah blowed be - foh, 



It blowed . . jus' like it 



^-ir 




246 



C. C. RIDER 



FlNB 




1 Dat Sunshine Special romin' around de bend, 
It blowed jus' like it nevah blowod )>ofoh, 

It blowed jus* like it ncvah blowed befoh, 
It blowed jus* like it nevah blowed befoh. 

2 If I had a head-light like on a passenger train, 
I'd shine my light on cool Colorado Springs, 
I'd shine my light on cool Colorado Springs, 
I'd shine my light on cool Colorado Springs. 

3 Oh C. C. RideY, now see what you done, done, 

You made me love you, now your sweetheart's come, 
You made me love you, now your sweetheart's come, 
You made rno love you, now your sweetheart's come. 



B 

1 C. C. Rider, just see what you have done! 

You made me love you, now yo* woman's done come! 
You made me love you, now yo' woman's done come! 
You made me love you, now yo' woman's done come! 

2 You caused me, Rider, to hang my head and cry; 
You put me down; God knows I don't see why! 
You put me down; God knows I don't see why! 
You put me down; God knows I don't see why! 



YOU FIGHT ON 



Brave counsel and spacious melody for a pilgrim's progress. ... A North Carolina woman at 
Purdue University heard this for years as a girl from a negro woman cook in her home. "Often 
when I was in the kitchen she would say to me, 'Come on, Miss Mary, get on de tune wagon, you 
ain't on de tune wagon.'" 

Arr. E. M. 

Moderate con mo to 

Ji .. PL. - 




If yo* broth - cr done you wrong 







Take him to yo'-sclf a - lone; 



Tell him.brotheryou done treated me 




P^r- 3 



-* *- 



_ fe3- 



-*- 



wrong. You 



on, 



you fight on, 



With yo' 



^ 



3 



? 



^ 



The first eighth note is sung in the natural voice, the second eighth note in falsetto 

243 



YOU FIGHT ON 







swo'd in yo' ban 1 , You fight on, 



yes, you fight on. . 










il 



Lawd-'y you fight on With yo' swo'd in yo' han', You fight on. 

/TS 



^ ^1 

Viii -W 

J f 









If yo' brother done you wrong 

Take him to yo'self alone; 

Tell him brother you done treated me wrong. 

You fight on, you fight on, 

With yo' swo'd in yo' han', 

You fight on, yes, you fight on. 

Lawdy you fight on 

With yo' swo'd in yo' han' 

You fight on. 




210 



SATAN'S A LIAH 



In Duluth, Minnesota, I heard Margaret Moore Nye, of a Richmond, Virginia, family, deliver 
this spiritual as she heard it in the kitchen of her girlhood home. She seated herself in a chair, 
crossed her knees, threw her head back, closed her eyes, patted the time with a foot, impersonating 
the mammy in Richmond from whose lips she heard it many years. 

Con uioto tranqulllo AlT. A. G. W. 







Sa - tan's a H - ah, . an' a con - juh too; . . If you 



u ____ 






T 



" >-*~ *~ - ^^~ 




don* watch out . he'll con -juh you; . . Sa-tan's a li-ah, an' a con -juh 








too; 



If you don* watch out he'll con - juh you. 



ii .> j> i -fH" 



-CZ- 



-fear 



k 



250 




SATAN'S A LIAH 

mjD pocorit. 



r*. 



J J 



* 



Ain* gon - na wor- ry my Lawd no* mo', Ain' gon- na wor - ry my Lawd no mo*. 
-> pocorit. rU. ^ 




-* * ^ 



1 Satan's a liah, an* a conjuh too; 

If you don* watch out he'll conjuh you. 
Satan's a liah, an' a conjuh too; 
If you don* watch out he'll conjuh you. 
Ain' gonna worry my Lawd no mo', 
Ain' gonna worry my Lawd no mo*. 

2 Satan's got a mighty big shoe, 

If you don' watch out he'll slip it on you. 
Satan's got a mighty big shoe, 
If you don' watch out he'll slip it on you. 
Ain' gonna worry my Lawd no mo', etc. 

8 Coin' to heaven on a angel's wing, 
When I get there you'll hear me sing. 
Coin' to heaven on a angel's wing, 
When I get there you'll hear me sing. 
Ain' gonna worry my Lawd no mo', etc. 

4 When I get to heaven goin' to sit yah down, 
Coin' to put on my robe an' starry crown. 
When I get to heaven goin' to sit yah down, 
Coin' to put on my robe an' starry crown. 
Ain* gonna worry my Lawd no mo', etc. 




251 



DE BALLET OF DE BOLL WEEVIL. 



"What's the song you're singing?" John Lomax once asked a group of negroes, who answered, 
"Dat's de ballet of de boll weevil." They have "ballets" (narratives), "reels" (dance songs), and 
"mellows" (melodies), besides improvisations called "make-up" and "jump-up" songs. . . . There 
were planters who gazed on ravaged cotton fields and felt the multiplied myrmidons of the boll 
weevil to be as terrible as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The imagination of the 
negro field workers played shrewdly and whimsically on the phantom that came so silently to destroy 
the work of man on the land that man claims to own. . . . Gates Thomas recorded three boll weevil 
verses in 1897, many more in 1906, and wrote in 1926 as to calamity and destruction by the insect 
plague, that it had been "more than averted, thanks to the application of scientific findings to 
cotton-growing and to the practical and creative work of seed breeders; but the ballad is still im- 
aginatively true to the time and region in which it arose communally." . . . Text and tune here 
arc from Texas, Oklahoma, Mississippi and Alabama; we forego boll weevil blues heard in Nash- 
ville, Tennessee, and on Lang Syne Plantation at Fort Motte, South Carolina. 

Allegro moderato Arr. A. G. 

m/ ^ 

-^71F 




Ttt=r*=?~+ i 
|Ki ;) :iKrgrf^-'4r' 1 la^hfEd 

.(-_ u 1 (.- L_ 1__ k_ 1 





liT bug say to de farm - er: 

ftf> J^j^L__ -3^JM 



** Got a nice big fam - bly 

mf> "~ 



7HU I __ ^^^^^^^^^- 

^^^^t^^^q 




dere; 



Coin* to have a home, 



DE BALLET OP DE BOLL WEEVIL. 



\l-il VI* 

/ * X ^p w J f* ^ X X *l 


/f\ 

= ii 


"^*J* ^F* "^S^" 


H 


. . Goin' to have a home." 






1 De farmer say to de weevil: 
"What you doin' on de square?" 
De li'l bug say to de farmer: 
"Got a nice big fambly dere; 

Goin' to have a home, goin' to have a home." 

2 Farmer say to de boll weevil: 
"You's right up on de square." 
Boll weevil say to de farmer: 
"Mah whole fambly's there, 

I have a home, I have a home." 

3 Bull weevil say to de lightnin' bug: 
"Can I get up a trade wid you? 

If I was a lightnin' bug, 

I'd work the whole night through, 

All night long, all night long." 

4 Don' you see dem creepers 
Now have done me wrong? 
Boll weevil got my cotton, 
An' de merchan' got my corn; 
What shall I do? I've got de blues. 

5 Boll weevil say to de merchan' : 
"Bettah drink yo' col' lemonade; 
W'en I get through wid you, 
Goin' to drag you out o' dat shade, 
I have a home, I have a home." 

6 Boll weevil say to de doctah: 
"Bettah pull out all dem pills, 
W'en I get through wid de farmer, 
Can't pay no doctah's bills. 

I have a home, I have a home." 



Sva bass 

7 Boll weevil say to de preacher: 
"Bettah close up dem church doors, 
W'en I get through wid de farmer, 
Can't pay de preacher no mo'. 

I have a home, I have a home." 

8 Boll weevil say to de farmer: 
"You can ride in dat Fohd machine. 
But w'en I get through wid yo' cotton, 
Can't buy no gasoline, 

Won't have no home, won't have no home." 

9 Boll weevil say to de farmer: 
"I'm a sittin* here on dis gate, 
W'en I get through wid de farmer, 
He's goin' to sell his Cadillac Eight, 
I have a home, I have a home." 

10 Boll weevil say to his wife : 
"Bettah stan' up on yo' feet, 
Look way down in Mississippi, 
At de cotton we'd got to eat, 
All night long, all night long." 

11 De farmer say to de merchan*: 
"I want some meat an* meal!*' 
"Get away f'm here, yo' son-of-a-gun, 
Yo' got boll weevils in yo' fieP, 

Goin' to get yo' home, goin* to get yo' home.* 1 

12 Boll weevil say to de farmer, 
"I wish you all is well!" 
Farmer say to de boll weevil : 
"I wish you wuz in hell! 

I'd have a home, I'd have a home.** 



253 



DE TITANIC 



The central facts of an immense sea tragedy are here. The main narrative lines of each stanza 
cadence a proud ship sailing at high speed, ending with a slow drawn drag, the silence of the empty 
sea that follows the "sinkin* down." As a poem, in accuracy of statement, in stresses of details, 
and in implicative quality, some would rate this above Longfellow's "Wreck of the Hesperus." 
The arrangement here is based on the singing of Miss Bessie Zaban, formerly of Georgia and now of 
Chicago; a number of verses were sent to her by C. H. Currie of Atlanta, Georgia. . . The dialect 
is imperfectly rendered. Negro troops sang the song crossing the submarine zone and in the 
trenches overseas. The verses move smoothly, in even pulsations, like the stride of a great ocean 
liner with its turbines in good working order. The chorus words "ocean" and "Titanic" sway 
like a swiftly "moving thing abruptly slowed down, struck, staggering and bewildered, while the 
words " sinkin' down " have the grave, quiet suspension of a requiem. 

Arr. L. S 




ship dat was cv - er built. DC cap - 'n pre - sua - ded dese 




Cfcr. 


J - 


J 


r-J- 


J 


^ 


J 


L 


J 


J 






,.. , 9 ... 




-.-- + 




Sf 


1 * 




. . . 




, _.. . 




_ ... . 




_- 


* 


L 




J 


---^- - -f-^ 


- - -t MI ''-r 


- " - 


- ~\~-2 




^5 


h-75 







-^3^ ^ 


-^<. 




**& 

"\ 




K 


"ty^. 
"i ^ 








poo - pics to think 



Dis Ti - tan - ic too safe to sink. 




254 



DE TITANIC 



i CHORUS 







Ti 



tan - ic, out on de o - cean, Sink- in' down! 




1 De ricli folks 'cidcd to take a trip 
On de fines' ship dat was ever built. 

De cap'n presuaded dese peoples to think 
Dis Titanic too safe to sink. 

Chorus: 

Out on dat ocean, 

De great wide ocean, 

DC Titanic, out on de ocean, 

Sinkin' down! 

2 De ship lef ' de harbor at a rapid speed, 
'Twuz carry in* every thin' dat de peeples need. 
She sailed six-hundred miles away, 

Met an icebug in her way. 

55 



DE TITANIC 

8 De ship lef de harbor, 'twuz runnin* fas'. 
'Twuz her fus' trip an' her las'. 
Way out on dat ocean wide 
An iccbug ripped her in de side. 

4 Up come Bill from de bottom flo* 

Said dt". water wuz runnin* in de boiler do*. 

Go back, Bill, an' shut yo' mouth, 

Got forty-eight pumps to keep de water out! 

5 Jus' about den de cap'n looked aroun', 
He seed de Titanic wuz a-sinkin* down. 
He give orders to de mens aroun': 
"Get yo' life-boats an* let 'em down!" 

6 DC mens standin' roun* like heroes brave, 
Nothin' but de wimin an' de chillun to save; 
De wimin an' de chillun a-wipin* dere eyes, 
Kissin' dere husbands an' friends good-bye. 

7 On de fifteenth day of May nincteen-twelve, 

De ship wrecked by an icebug out in de ocean dwell. 
De people wuz thinkin' o' Jesus o* Nazaree, 
While de band played "Nearer My God to Thee!" 




856 



THE GREAT OPEN SPACES 



WHEN THE CURTAINS OF NIGHT ARE PINNED BACK 

WHEN THE WORK'S ALL DONE THIS FALL 

AS I WALKED OUT IN THE STREETS OF LAREDO 

THE DREARY BLACK HILLS 

THE LONE STAR TRAIL 

WHOOPEE TI YI YO, GIT ALONG, LITTLE DOGIES 

THE BUFFALO SKINNERS 

POOR LONESOME COWBOY 

THE TENDERFOOT 

LITTLE AH SID 

THE KINKAIDERS 

DAKOTA LAND 

THE FARMER 

RABBLE SOLDIER 

THE TRAIL TO MEXICO 



HARMONIZATION BT 

Thorrald Otterstrdm 
Henry Francis Parks . 

Marion Lychenheim 
Marion Lychenheim 
Charles Farwett Edson . 
Charles Farwett Edson . 
Hazel Felman 
Hazel Felman 
Marion Lychenheim 
Alfred G. Wathall . . 
Alfred G. WaihaU . . 
Lillian Roscdale Goodman 
Hazel Felman 



PAOF 

25ff 
260 
268 
264 
266 



270 
273 

274 
276 
27H 
280 
282 
281 
285 



217 



In only a few instances have I been able to discover the authorship of any song. They seem 
to have sprung up as quietly and mysteriously as 'ioes the grass on the plains. All have been popular 
with the range riders, several being current all the way from Texas to Montana, and quite a> long 
as the old, old Chisholm Trail stretching between these states. Some of the songs the x>wboy 
certainly composed; all of them he sang. Obviou.sly, a number of the most characteristic cannot 
be printed for general circulation. To paraphrase slightly what Sidney Lanier said of Walt Whit- 
man's poetry, they are raw collops slashed from the rump of Nature, and never mind the gristle. 
Likewise some of the strong adjectives and nouns have been softened Jonahed, as George Meredith 
would have said. There is, however, a Homeric quality about the cowboy's profanity and vul- 
garity that pleases rather than repulses. The broad sky under which he slept, the limitless plains 
over which he rode, the big, open, free life he live<l near to Nature's breast ^ taught him simplicity, 
calm, directness. He spoke out plainly the impulses of his heart. But as yet so-called polite society 
is not quite willing to hear. 

JOHN A. LOMAX in Cowboy Songs and Ballad*. 



The big ranches of the West are now being cut up into small farms. The nester has come, and 
conic to stay. Gone is the buffalo, the Indian warwhoop, the free grass of the open plain; -even 
the stinging lizard, the horned frog, the centipede, the prairie dog, the rattlesnake are fast dis- 
appearing. Save in some of the secluded valleys of southern New Mexico, the old time round-up 
is no more; the trails to Kansas and Montana have become grass-grown or lost in fields of waving 
grain; the maverick steer, the regal longhorn, has been supplanted by his unpoetic but more beefy 
and profitable Polled Angus, Durham, and Hereford cousins from across the seas. The changing 
and romantic West of the early days lives mainly in story and song. The last figure to vanish is 
the cowboy, the animating spirit of the vanishing era. He sits his horse easily as he rides through 
a wide valley, enclosed by mountains, clad in the hazy purple of coining night, with his face turned 
steadily down the long, long road, "the road that the sun goes down." Dauntless, reckless, as 
gentle to a pure woman as King Arthur, he is truly a knight of the twentieth century, A vagrant 
puff of wind shakes a corner of the crimson handkerchief knotted loosely at his throat; the thud 
of his pony's feet mingling with the jingle of his spurs is borne back. 1 and as the careless, gracious, 
lovable figure disappears over the divide, the breeze brings to the ears, faint and far yet cheery 
still, the refrain of a cowboy song: 

Whoopee ti yi, git along little dogies; 

It's my misfortune and none of your own. 
Whoopee ti yi, git along, little dogies; 

For you know Wyoming will be your new home, 

JOHN A. LOMAX hi Cowboy Song? and Ballads. 



258 



WHEN THE CURTAINS OF NIGHT ARE PINNED BACK 



The cowboys of Colorado took a garrulous popular song of the 1870's, and kept a fragment, 
the heart's essence of it. It is impressive when sung by a lone horseman silhouetted against a 
distant horizon. Given anywhere with ease, feeling, control, it may leave echoes as thin and air- 
hung as certain apparitions of a clear night's sky of stars. That is, it holds an honest and independ- 
ent poetry. . . . Text and tune are from Jane Ogle of Rock Island, Illinois. 




With deliberation 



Arr. Th. O. 






When the cur - tains of night Are pinned back by the stars, And the 



mf 






r 





beau - ti - f ul moon sweeps the sky, 



I'll re-nicm-bcr you,Tx)ve,In my prayers. 



^=pp^slf^||^Ej^tj^f- 

te*.& 




teP h I TH j^^^Fn-T-FJd 4- J JrrfTT 



I When the curtains of night 
Are pinned back by the stars, 
And the beautiful moon sweeps the sky, 

I'll remember you, 

Love, 

In my prayers. 




2 When the curtains of night 
Arc pinned back by the stars. 
And the dew drops of heav'n kiss the rose, 

I'll remember you, 

Love, 

In my prayers. 



WHEN THE WORK'S ALL DONE THIS FALL 



What the poet meant in his mention of "the short and simple annals of the poor/' is fairly well 
delivered in the specific case told of here. It is a story sure of its main facts\ Radio Mack of San 
Francisco, of the regular army and of western cattle ranches, communicated the tune and verses. 

Arr. H. F. P. 




A group of jol - ly cow - boys, dis - cus - sing plans at ease, Says 




^J^^g^^^fe^^^^ 






one,*Tll tell you some-thing,boys,if you will lis-tcn,please. I am an old cow-punch-er and 









hyer I'm dress'd in rags, I used to be a tough one and go on great big jags. 



%H=4--d* 



^===^3=^-^^ 



^= 



260 



WHEN THE WORK'S ALL DONE THIS PALL 



But I have got a home, boys, a good one, you all know, Al - 




g|=*=pEJBE 



. ,.,.. 

?==. 



i 




though I have not seen it since long, long a - go. I'm go - ing hack to Dix - ic once 

^~--"i - '- - - v - r 




-^=4- 



= 



g^g^^^E^^BfE^EfeJ^E 



more to see them all, YesJ'm go-ing to see mymoth-er when the work's all done this fall. 



l F l f 



El 



ESE 




=3T ^ J 



WHEN THE WORK'S ALL DONE THIS PALL 

1 A group of jolly cowboys, discussing plans at ease, 

Says one, "I'll tell you something, boys, if you will listen, please. 

I am an old cow-puncher and hyer I'm dressed in rags, 

I used to be a tough one and go on great big jags. 

But I have got a home, boys, a good one, you all know, 

Although I have not seen it since long, long ago. 

I'm going back to Dixie once more to see them all, 

Yes, I'm going to see my mother when the work's all done this fall. 

2 "After the round-up's over and after the shipping's done, 

I am going right straight home, boys, ere all my money is gone. 

I have changed my ways, boys, no more will I fall; 

And I am going home, boys, when the work's all done this fall. 

When I left home, boys, my mother for me cried, 

Begged me not to go, boys, for me she would have died; 

My mother's heart is breaking, breaking for me, that's all, 

And with God's help I'll see her when the work's all done this fall." 

3 That very night this "cowboy went out to stand his guard; 
The night was dark and cloudy and storming very hard; 
The cattle they got frightened and rushed in wild stampede, 
The cowboy tried to head them, riding at full speed. 
While riding in the darkness so loudly did he shout, 
Trying his best to head them and turn the herd about, 

His saddle horse did stumble and on him did fall, 

The poor boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall. 

4 His body was so mangled the boys all thought him dead, 
They picked him up so gently and laid him on a bed; 
He opened wide his blue eyes and looking all around 

He motioned to his comrades to sit near him on the ground. 

"Boys, send my mother my wages, the wages I have earned, 

For I am afraid, boys, rny last steer I have turned. 

I'm going to a new range, I hyear my Master's call, 

And I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall. 

5 "Bill, you may have my saddle; George, you may take my bed; 
Jack may have my pistol, after I am dead. 

Boys, think of me kindly when you look upon them all, 

For I'll not see my mother when the work's all done this fall." 

Poor Charlie was buried at sunrise, no tombstone at his head, 

Nothing but a little board and this is what it said, 

"Charlie died at daybreak, he died from a fall, 

The boy won't see his mother when the work's all done this fall." 



262 



AS I -WALKED OUT IN THE STREETS OF LAREDO 

A cowboy classic known in several tunes from the spaces patrolled by the Northwest Mounted 
to those where the Texas Rangers keep law and order, more or less. The air is old Irish and many 
of the lines are almost literally from old broadsides peddled in Dublin these years now gone. 







I .walked out in La - re - do one day, I spied a poor eow-l my wrapped 




up in white lin - en,Wrapped up in white lin - en and cold as the clay. 



1 As I walked out in the streets of Laredo, 
As I walked out in Laredo one day, 

I spied a poor cowboy wrapped up in white linen, 
Wrapped up in white linen and cold as the elay. 

2 "I see by your outfit that you arc a cowboy," 
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by. 
"Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story; 
I was shot in the breast and I know I must die. 

3 "Let sixteen gamblers come handle my coffin, 
lAt sixteen cowboys come sing me a song, 

Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me, 
For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong. 

4 "It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing, 
It was once in the saddle I used to go gay. 
Twas first to drinking and then to card playing, 
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today. 

5 "Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin, 
Get six pretty girls to carry my pall; 

Put bunches of roses all over my coffin, 
Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall. 

6 "O beat the drum slowly and play the fife lowly 
And play the dead march as you carry me along, 
Take me to the green valley and lay the sod o'er me, 
For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong." 

7 We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly, 
And bitterly wept as we bore him along; 

For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young, and handsome, 
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong. 

263 



THE DREARY BLACK HILLS 



Honest workmen, small business men, loafers and bummers, rainbow chasers, hopers and 
seekers, were in that roundhouse at Cheyenne. And one who was frozen plumb to the gills, who 
was called the orphan of the Black Hills, sketched the scenery. 

Air. M. L. 

Slow, ea*y, gad-like 




The round-house in Chcy-enne is filled ev - Vy night, With loaf-ers and bura-mers of 







4 







most ev - 'ry plight, On their backs is no clothes, in their pock - ets no bills, Each 



i --H - j i I - j -- 1 H r J - 4 -J - --- \ 



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^ 



CHORUS 



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day they keep start-ing for the drear-y Black Hills. Don't go a-way, stay at home if you can, 



THE DREARY BLACK HILLS 



^23-=Z=: 



Stay a- way from that cit-y they call it Cheyenne, Where the blue wa-ters roll, 







man 



- che Bills, They will 

J 



lift 




your hair, on the drea - ry Black Hills. 

T O-" " IF" ~ " : H 

^rt^" 



^ 



r 



1 The roundhouse in Cheyenne is filled every night, 
With loafers and bummers of most ev'ry plight, 

On their backs is no clothes, in their pockets no bills, 
Each day they keep starting for the dreary Black Hills. 

Chorus: 

Don't go away, stay at home if you can, 
Stay away from that city they call it Cheyenne, 
Where the blue waters roll, and Comanche Bills, 
They will lift up your hair, on the dreary Black Hills. 

2 I got to Cheyenne, no gold could I find, 

I thought of the lunch route I'd left far behind; 

Through rain, hail, and snow, frozen plumb to the gills, 

They call me the orphan of the dreary Black Hills. 

3 Kind friend, to conclude, my advice I'll unfold, 
Don't go to the Black Hills a-hunting for gold; 
Railroad speculators their pockets you'll fill 
By taking a trip to those dreary Black Hills. 

Last Chorus: 

Don't go away, stay at home if you can, 
Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne, 
For old Sitting Bull or Comanche Bills 
They will take off your scalp on the dreary Black Hills. 
265 



THE LONE STAR TRAIL 

A cowboy classic of saddle and trail, ranch and range. The verses are from John Lomax of 
Texas and Jay Monaghan of Wyoming. . . . The line "I got a gal, prettiest gal you ever saw," is 
sometimes sung, "I went to the reservation to see my squaw." Certain versions have extended ana 

lurid conversations between the cowboy and the lady. 

Air. M. L. 
Bravado but not braggadocio 



fcr-.Trl^&E 



I start - ed on the trail on June twen - ty - third, I been punch-in' Tex - as 






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:_- -1 -*-~*~4-J=^3=t=f=^t=^ - 






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cat - tie on the Lone Star trail; Sing - in* Ki yi yip - pi yap - pi 






1 --- L-EZ^Z - LZK 



L - T^ - = ^>. 



, yap - pi yay! Sing - in* Ki yi yip - pi yap - pi y - ay! . 






1 I started on the trail on June twenty-third, 
I been punchin' Texas cattle on the Lone Star trail; 
Singin* Ki yi yippi yappi yay, yappi yay! 
Siurin* Ki yi yippi yappi yay! 

66 



THE LONE STAR TRAIL 

fc It's cloudy in the west, a-lookin' like rain, 

And my damned old slicker's in the wagon again; 
Singin' Ki yi yippi, etc. 

3 My slicker's in the wagon, and I'm gettin' mighty cold, 
And these long-horned sons-o'-guns are gettin' hard to hold; 

Singin' Ki yi yippi, etc. 

4 I'm up in the mornin* before daylight, 
And before I sleep the moon shines bright. 

6 Oh it's bacon and beans 'most every day, 
I'd as soon be a-eatin' prairie hay. 

6 I went up to the boss to draw my roll, 

He had it figgered out I was nine dollars in the hole. 

7 I'll drive them cattle to the top of the hill, 
I'll kiss that gal, gol darn I will. 

8 My seat is in the saddle and my hand is on the horn, 
I'm the best dam cowboy ever was born. 

9 My hand is on the horn and my seat is in the saddle, 
I'm the best dam cowboy that ever punched cattle. 

10 My feet are in the stirrups and my rope is on the side, 
Show me a hoss that I can't ride. 

Ill herded and I hollered and I done very well, 
Till the boss said, "Boys, just let 'cm go to hell." 

12 Stray in the herd and the boss said kill it, 

So I shot him in the rump with the handle of the skillet. 

13 I went up to the boss and we had a little chat, 

I slapped him in the face with rny big slouch hat. 

14 O the boss says to me, "I'll fire you, 
Not only you, but the whole dam crew." 

15 I got a gal, prettiest gal y'u ever saw, 

And she lives on the bank of the Deep Cedar Draw. 

16 I'll sell my outfit just as soon as I can; 
I won't punch cattle for no dam man. 

17 Coin* back to town to draw my money, 
Coin* back home to see iny honey. 

18 Well, I'll sell my saddle and I'll buy me a plow 
And I'll swear begad, I'll never rope another cow. 

19 With my knees in the saddle and my seat in the sky, 
I'll quit punching cows in the sweet by and by. 



WHOOPEE, TI YI YO, GIT ALONG, LITTLE DOGIES 

This widely sung piece also has the smell of saddle leather and long reaches of level prairies in 
it. It is plainly of Irish origin, connecting with the lilts and the ballads that begin, "As I was 
a-walking one morning." The word "choila" is Spanish and is pronounced as if spelled "choya." 
The "dogics" are the little yearling steers. 

Arr. C. F. E. 



tii~-,.n ~ "Tzimif ' 

EH L 



* * 



h 



As I was a - walk - ing one 








morn - ing for pleas - ure, I saw a cow-punch- er come rid - ing a - lone. His 




- -=4- 



1 



hat was throwed back and his spurs was a - jing - ling, And as he ap-proached he was 













sing -ing this song: Whoo-pee, ti yi yo, git a - long, lit - tie dog- ies! It's 







268 



WHOOPEE, TI YI YO, GIT ALONG, LITTLE DOGIES 



your mis - 


* J 
for - tune and 


=== 

none of 


my own. Whoo-pee, 


U 


-j--- 

yi yo> git 


a - 


fo- * *4 - 


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-iin-. ---- ---- ^-.^ ..... -Jrr--... - 



long lit - tie dog - ies, For you know Wy - o - ming will be your new home! 




1 As I was a-walking one morning for pleasure, 
I saw a cowpuncher come riding alone. 

His hat was throwed back and his spurs was a-jingling, 
And as he approached he was singing this song: 

Refrain: 

Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies! 
It's your misfortune and none of my own. 
Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, 
For you know Wyoming will be your new home! 

2 Early in the spring we round up the dogies, 
Mark and brand and bob off their tails, 
Round up our horses, load up the chuck wagon, 
Then throw the dogies up on the trail : 
Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, etc. 

3 It's whooping and yelling and driving the dogies; 
how I wish they would go on! 

It's whooping and punching and go on little dogies, 
For you know Wyoming will be your new home: 
Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, etc. 

69 



WHOOPEE, TI YI YO, GIT ALONG, LITTLE DOGIES 

4 When the night comes on we herd them on the bedground, 
These little dogies that roll on so slow; 

Roll up the herd and cut out the strays, 

And roll the little dogies that never rolled before: 

Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, etc. 

5 Your mother she was raised way down in Texas, 
Where the jimson weed and sand burrs grow. 
Now we'll fill you up on prickly pear and cholla 
Till you are ready for the trail to Idaho: 
Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, etc. 

6 Oh, you'll be soup for Uncle Sam's Injuns; 
It's "beef, heap beef," I hear them cry. 
Git along, git along, little dogies, 
You're going to be beef steers by and by. 
Whoopee, ti yi yo, git along, little dogies, etc. 



THE BUFFALO SKINNERS 

This is one of the magnificent finds of John Lomax for American folk song lore. It is the frame- 
work of a big, sweeping novel of real life, condensed into a few telling stanzas. It is of the years 
when outfits of men went onto the Great Plains and killed buffalo for the hides. The carcasses were 
skinned by thousands and left on the open prairies for the crows and buzzards to pick to the bone. 
We may hunt for a harder sardonic than that of Crego telling the men they had been "extravagant" 
and were in debt to him. They killed him; it is told as casually and as frankly as the doing of the 
bloody deed and their immediate forgetfulncss about it except as one of many passing difficulties of 
that summer. Lomax speaks of this piece as having in its language a "Homeric quality." Its 
words are blunt, direct, odorous, plain and made-to-hand, having the sound to some American ears 
that the Greek language of Homer had for the Greeks of that time. 

Arr. C. F. E. 







'Twas in the town of Jacks - bo - ro in the spring of seven - ty - three, A 



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THE BUFFALO SKINNERS 



fL. ft / 1* * <* r / * 1* *1 _j 


K > ^ fc l~ m ' fe VH 


fp-fi t? * ^ 5 5-*^ +* v ^ * l fc 

man by the name of Cre - go . . came step - ping up to me, 


Say - ing. 

3 


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"How do you 


do, 


young fel - low. . and 


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how would you like 


to 


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go 





And 


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spend one sum - mer pleas- ant - ly jo the range of the buf - fa - lo?" 



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1 'Twas in the town of Jacksboro in the spring of seventy-three, 
A man by the name of Crego came stepping up to me, 

Saying, "How do you do, young fellow, and how would you like to go 
And spend one summer pleasantly on the range of the buffalo?" 

2 "It's me being out of employment,*' this to Crego I did say, 
"This going out on the buffalo range depends upon the pay. 
But if you will pay good wages and transportation too, 

I think, sir, I will go with you to the range of the buffalo." 

3 "Yes, I will pay good wages, give transportation too, 
Provided you will go with me and stay the summer through; 
But if you should grow homesick, come back to Jacksboro, 

I won't pay transportation from the range of the buffalo." 

271 



THE BUFFALO SKINNERS 

4 It's now our outfit was complete seven able-bodied men, 
With navy six and needle gun our troubles did begin; 
Our way il was a pleasant one, the route we had to go, 
Until we crossed Pease River on the range of the buffalo. 

5 It's now we've crossed Pease River, our troubles have begun. 
The first damned tail I went to rip, Christ! how I cut my thumb! 
While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn't a show, 
For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo. 

He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself 'most dead, 
It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread. 
Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could never go 
O God! I wished I had never come to the range of the buffalo. 

7 Our meat it was buffalo hump and iron wedge bread, 
And all we had to sleep on was a buffalo robe for a bed; 

The fleas and gray- backs worked on us, O boys, it was not slow, 

I'll tell you there's no worse hell on earth than the range of the buffalo. 

8 Our hearts were cased with buffalo hocks, our souls were cased with steel, 
And the hardships of that summer would nearly make us reel. 

While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show 
For the Indians waited to pick us off on the hills of Mexico. 

The season being near over, old Crego he did say 
The crowd had been extravagant, was in debt to him that day, 
We coaxed him and we begged him and still it was no go 
We left old Crego's bones to bleach on the range of the buffalo. 

10 Oli, it's now we've crossed Pease River and homeward we are bound, 
No more in that hell-fired country shall ever we be found. 
Go home to our wives and sweethearts, tell others not to go, 
For God's forsaken the buffalo range and the damned old buffalo. 









POOR LONESOME COWBOY 

An atmospheric sketch from Charles J. Finger, of Fayetteville, Arkansas, editor of "All's Well," 
and author of "Tales from Silver Lands" and other books. It is a species of Cowboy blues, the 
range rider's moan. Finger says, " It is strangely like a song I heard among the Argentine gauchos 

No tengo padre, no tengo madrc; 
No hermana, no hcrmano; 
O no! no! O no! 

Which may be translated, "I have no father, I have no mother, nor brother, nor sister, and so on." 
. . . The first verse here may be used as a chorus for all succeeding verses. 

Arr. H. P. 
Sad, and worse than sad /TN 




I'm a poor lone -some cow-boy, I'm a poor lone -some cow-boy, I'm a 

I* M 



poor lone - some cow - boy, And a long way from home. 




P:IH 



, - , J mtmmmmSt ___ 

ls^p^^^^.^^^^^^^-^3' : ''^~^~^'"-: 
5- w- >* V f --$- j*j. ^J,- -g 




1 I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, 
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, 
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy, 
And a long way from home. 

2 I ain't got no father, 
I ain't got no father, 
I ain't got no father, 

To buy the clothes I wear. 

8 I ain't got no mother, 
I ain't got no mother, 
I ain't g -t no mother, 
To mend the clothes I wear. 



4 I ain't got no sister, 
I ain't got no sister, 
I ain't got no sister, 

To go and play with me. 

5 I ain't got no brother, 
I ain't got no brother, 
I ain't got no brother, 

To drive the steers with me. 

6 I ain't got no sweetheart, 
I ain't got no sweetheart, 
I ain't got no sweetheart, 
To sit and talk with me. 



273 



THE TENDERFOOT 

A plain tale that has gravity and persuasion and belongs in the realistic school of narrative. 
We may laugh, as bystanders usually do, when somebody else's mortal frame and personal dignity 
are kicked around as with this tenderfoot. Text and tune are as sung by Norman Byrne of the 
University of Oregon, and as he learned it in Alberta, Canada. 

Arr. H. F. 






One day I thought I'd have some fun, And see how punch -ing cows was done; So 



j|pai^pj^^|^|^E|ggijj_ijj| 







when tlie round - up had be - gun I tack - led the cat - tie king. 



Says 










r _ _____ i _ 

i_. . . J:T_: ~ t r - 




he, "My fore -man's gone to town, He's in a sa-loon and his name is Brown; If 










^ 









1. 



274 



THE TENDERFOOT 



(fob I 

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p^^-i^lrt^' 



rr^rr-^r^^r-^- - ~ ~ ij 

__^_ "~j Yi '""* ' '" T '^- -~ -^ -|-| 

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you see him he'll take you down/* Says I, '* That's just the thing." . 



(way.) 






j 
-^ 

: ^.iil U-- 



1 One day I thought I'd have some fun, 
And see how punching cows was done; 
So when the roundup had begun 

I tackled the cattle king. 
Says he, "My foreman's gone to town, 
He's in a saloon and his name is Brown; 
If you see him he'll take you down." 
Says I, "That's just the thing." 

2 We started out to the ranch next day. 
Brown talked to me most all the way. 
Says, "Punching cows is nothing but play, 
It is no work at all." 

Oh jimminy krissmas, how lie lied! 
He had a hell of a lot of gall, 
He put me in charge of the cavvy hole, 
Says Brown, "Don't work too hard." 

3 Sometimes those cattle would make a break 
And across the prairie they would take, 
Just like they was running for a stake. 

To them it was nothing but play. 
Sometimes they would stumble and fall, 
Sometimes you couldn't head 'em at all, 
And we'd shoot on like a cannonball 
Till the ground came in our way. 



4 They saddled me up an old gray hack 
With a great big scat fast on his back. 
They padded him down with gunny sack 
And with my bedding too. 

When I got on him he left the ground, 
Went up in the air and circled around 
And when I came down I busted the ground. 
I got a terrible fall. 

5 They picked me up and carried mo in 
And rubbed me down with a picket pin. 
Says, "That's the way they all begin." 
"You're doing fine," says Brown. 
"To-morrow morning if you don't die 
I'll give you another hoss to try." 
Says I, 4 'Oh can't 1 walk? ..." 

Says Brown, "Yep, back to town." 

6 I've travelled up, I've travelled down, 
I've travelled this wide* world all around, 
I've lived in city, I've lived in town; 
I've got this much to say : 

Before you go to punching cows, [your life, 
Go kiss your wife, get a heavy insurance upon 
And shoot yourself with a butcher knife, 
For that is the easiest way. 



27$ 



LITTLE AH SID 



A popular song, a black-face minstrel ballad, a favorite among chuck wagon cooks on the Chis- 
holm Trail, as I am told by one of the cooks who had been a minstrel. From West Coast cities it 
traveled to gold diggings and cattle ranges. 

Arr. M. L. 

-++* H^-tr * K * LI- F 



Lit - tie Ah Sid was a Chi - nese kid, A neat lit - tie cuss, I de - 

\ _\J[ .'.'. * ., 1~ IJ ... """"_, _J _J f .,*f . _4-~-^"+---~ j _~~^^^L "_I_- .^^ ^~~ j ~ " ^^^] ~ 

_j . \ . , - , rr~Md ^ ^ 



T"?- 



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Lt_-j_-.^_^ 



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With eyes full of fun, And a nose that be - gun 



._ 



I l 



Way up in the roofs of his hair. 



Ki - yee ki - yay, ki - 



f : ,. * " 




276 



LITTLE AH SID 



J^j# _J* ^. 4 <p 


^ ^ _::i- J1 ^ ' ^ 


yip - pi ki - yay, Ki - 

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yip - pi ki - yip - pi 


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Sang 





lit- tie Ah Sid, this Ch - i - nese kid, As he played the long sum-mer day. 




1 Little Ah Sid was a Chinese kid, 
A neat little cuss, I declare, 
With eyes full of fun, 

And a nose that begun 

W r ay up in the roots of his hair. 

Refrain: 

"Ki-yce ki-yay, ki-yippi ki-yay, 
Ki-yippi ki-yippi ki-yay," 
Sang little Ah Sid, this Chinese kid, 
As he played the long summer day. 

2 So jolly and fat was this innocent brat, 
As he played in the long summer day, 
And he braided his cue 

Like papa used to 

In Chinaland far away. 

3 Once on a lawn that Ah Sid played on, 
A bumble-bee flew in the spring. 
"Ah, Mellicee bullifly!" 



Cried he, winking his eye, 

"Me ketch urn arid pull off urn wing." 

4 And then with his cap he hit it a rap, 
This innocent bumbley bee, 

And he put its remains 
In the seat of his janes 
For a pocket there had this Chinee. 

5 Now little Ah Sid was only a kid; 
How could you exjxjet him to guess 
What kind of a bug 

He was holding so snug 

In the folds of his loose-fitting dress. 

6 "Ki-yee ki-yay, ki-yippi ki-yay," 
As he hurriedly rose from the spot, 
" Ki-yee ki-yam, 

Um Mellican man, 

Urn bullifly velly dam hot!" 



377 



THE KINKAIDERS 



These verses, from the Edwin Ford Piper collection of pioneer songs at the University of Iowa* 
go to a melody based on Maryland, My Maryland, which in turn is based on the German song, 
O Tanneribaurn, which in turn derived from an old Italian melody, Vittoria. The phrase "out of 
sight" in the late 1880's was slang indicating excellence or superfine quality. Homesteaders in the 
Nebraska sandhills sang this at old settlers* picnics, at reunions, and political gatherings. Moses P. 
Kinkaid, Congressman from the Sixth District, 1903-1919, introduced a bill for 640-acre homesteads 
and was hailed as a benefactor of the .sandhill region. 

Arr. A. G. W. 




You ask what place I like the !>cst, The sandhills, O the old sandhills; The 




* . "L^ :~ " m " <*- 



place Kiri-kaid - ers make tlicir home, And prai - rie chick - ens free - ly roam. 







-==3= 



KKKRAIN 



Iii all Ne-bras - ka's wide domain 'Tis the place we long to see a -gain; The 











278 



THE KINKAIDERS 



J. J J J |-JL_J_J 



sand hills are the ver - y best, She is the queen of all the rest. 




1 You ask what place I like the best, 
The sand hills, the old sand hills; 
The plaee Kinkaiders make their home, 
And prairie ehiekens freely roam. 

Chorus: 

In all Nebraska's wide domain 
'Tis the place we long to see again; 
The sand hills are the very best, 
She is the queen of all the rest. 

2 The corn we raise is our delight, 
The melons, too, are out of sight. 
Potatoes grown are extra fine 
And can't be beat in any clime. 

8 The peaceful cows in pastures dream 
And furnish us with golden cream, 
So I shall keep my Kinkaid home 
And never far away shall roam. 

Chorus: 

Then let us all with hearts sincere 
Thank him for what has brought us here. 
And for the homestead law he made, 
This noble Moses P. Kinkaid. 



70 



DAKOTA LAND 

Older nations have had peasant revolts and agrarian movements and parties. The United States 
has had its Greenback, Populist, Nonpartisan League and Farm Bloc movements, all of them 
western, and in part representative of strugglers in semi-arid areas where so often "the rain's just 
gone around." A poet of those strugglers, Edwin Ford Piper, in "Barbed Wire and Wayfarers/* 
uses their lingo: 

Run, you M stiff-kneed grasshopper, 
You spiral-spirted jackrabbit, you! 
A-ho, whoopee! 

Brown's Hotel we're bound to see, 
Swing them girls at the dance party, 
One-and-twcrity on a moonlight spree 
A- ho, whoopee! 
Whoa, Zebe, whoa! 
Whoa, 'till I hitch you, whoa! 

In a piece on "The Drought," he tells how 

On the whitening grass, 

With bright and helpless eyes, a meadow lark 
Sits open-beaked and des{x?rately mute. 
The thin, brown wheat that was too short to cut 
Stands in the field; the feeble corn, breast high, 
Shows yellowed leaf and tassel. 

And from Piper's song collection we have a psalm of a desolate people, " Dakota Land," with an air 
somewhat after the gospel hymn, "Beulah Land." 

Arr. A. G. W. 



^-3 



We've reached the land of des - rrt sweet, Where noth - ing grows for man to eat, The 



Legato setnpre 



wind it blows with fev - 'rish heat A - cross the plains so hard to l>eat. 






DAKOTA LAND 




ir-=J^ES^.^-t~-J:: 

.^. ^ 1"- 4P-; ^ -P - ~ - 



O Da - ko - ta land, sweet Da - ko - ta land, As on thy fier - y 

^P^rii^ 
** 




soil Island, I look a- cross the plains, And won-derwhy it ncv - er 

T--T~- J- 




?.:: . Jn^HiEf : (I 



rains, Till (ia - briel blows his truin-pctsound,And says the rain's just gone a -round. 



r-T-- J - 




1 We've reached the land of desert sweet, 
Where nothing grows for man to eat, 
The wind it blows with feverish heat 
Across the plains so hard to l>eat. 



Refrain: 

Dakota land, sweet Dakota land, 
As on thy fiery soil I stand, 

1 look across the plains, 

And wonder why it never rains, 
Till Gabriel blows his trumpet sound 
And says the rain's just gone around. 



2 We've reached the land of hills and stones 
Where all is strewn with buffalo bones. 

buffalo bones, bleached buffalo bones, 

1 seem to hear your sighs and rnoans. 

3 We have no wheat, we have no oats, 
We have no corn to feed our shoats; 
Our chickens are so very poor 

They beg for crumbs outside the door. 

4 Our horses are of broncho race; 
Starvation stares them in the face. 
We do not live, we only stay; 

We are too poor to get away. 



281 



THE FARMER 

Fragments of this were heard in Illinois in the early 1890*8. S. K Barlow, a Galesburg milk- 
man who used to be a fiddler at country dances near Galva, sang it for me as we washed eight- and 
two-gallon delivery cans and quart-measure cups on winter afternoons. W. W. Delaney said, 

"As near as I remember that song came out in the 1860's, just after the war." 

AIT. L. R. G. 










When the farm - er comes to town, With his wag - on bro - ken down, O, the 

^ - - 

KZZZjitt 













I 






farm - er is the man who feeds them all! If you'll on - ly look and see, I . . 



\j m w 9 m 



TK' I ~" P~ J Iff 1 

ry f r m : 

r ^ r ! tsi 



' -P 
- = 



F 4 *t'~^> 

_f - 1 -J=*=3. 






fes 







think you will a - gree That the farm - er is the man who feeds them all. . . 



THE FARMER 



y RBPRAIN mf 



*-" 



m 



The farm - er is the man, Tin- farm - er is the man, 

-1 | H ^"l 

-.-. .. -.&.-*.. 







-_-_=p: 



1 







I ' - -~ . --- 

Buys on cred-it till the fall; Then they take him by the hand, And they 

l-^.-^ -Jq~- ,r^-q,c-^--i,----7..r^r -^T-T 

N^-^^^^g^:^*^ -Ipjij f^J 7 :: 'g-^-J 
JEJz^J: ' J:P^L , j j- "flFT"* ". - FJ' " "I'f^J^.*^ . ] 

* , ^ ___ ^^ j_... . .^ ^ ... _q 

^ w 

^ ^^ ^ ^1 ^^ j "W ~ fe I ' ^ ~"fc &. " " - - - - - ^c"r"*~" i - - - v- H ' i * 
Ti (^ - ^- ^P*" ," ' - \ " " "j^ "~^ ~ " "1^ " ~ ^ " " ~ iH" " ~ "^" I " j --"' ^ ^j If 

lead him to the land, And the merch-ant i> the man who gets it all. . . 

^^-.rr^-r:^.. ;:; ^Z^- ^/j^_^_^ ._ f_ 
' P-*- & + 




1 Wlien the farmer comes to town, 
With his wagon broken down, 
O, the farmer is the man who feeds them all! 
If you'll only look and see, 
I think you will agree 



The doctor hangs around 

While the blacksmith heats his iron, 

0, the farmer is the man who feeds them all! 

The preacher and the cook 

Go strolling by the brook, 



That the farmer is the man who feeds them all. And the farmer is the man who feeds them all. 



Refrain: 

The farmer is the man, 
The farmer is the man, 
Buys on credit till the fall; 
Then they take him by the hand, 
And they lead him to the land, 
And the merchant is the man who gets it all. 

283 



Refrain: 

The farmer is the man, 
The farmer is the man, 
Buys on credit till the fall. 
Tho' his family comes to town, 
With a wagon broken down, 
0, the fanner is the man who feeds them all! 



RABBLE SOLDIER 



This also travels under the names of "O Molly" and "My Horses Ain't Hungry." John 
Lomax gives a version called "Jack O' Diamonds," with one chorus going 

If the ocean was whiskey, and I was a duck, 
I'd dive to the bottom to get one sweet sup; 
But the ocean ain't whiskey, and I ain't a duck, 
So I'll play Jack O' Diamonds and then we'll get drunk. 
O Baby, O Baby, I've told you before, 
Do make me a pallet, I'll lie on the floor. 

Texts and tunes are related to southern mountain songs, to old English and Scotch ballads, blends 
of "Old Smokey," "Clinch Mountain," "Skew Ball," "Rebel Soldier," "I'm a Poor Troubled 
Soldier." 

LIUlngly Arr. H. F. 









I've ram-bled and gam-bled all mymon-ey a - way, And it's with the rab-ble 







ar - my, O Mol - ly, I'll stay; I'll think of you, Mol - ly, you 




rrr 



caused me to roam, I'm an old rab~- ble sol - dier and Dix -ie's my home. 



RABBLE SOLDIER 

1 I've rambled and gambled all my money away, 
And it's with the rabble army, O Molly, I'll stay; 
I'll think of you, Molly, you caused me to roam, 
I'm an old rabble soldier and Dixie's my home. 

2 I'll build me a castle on a mountain so high, 

Where the bluebirds and white doves can't hear my cry; 
Your parents are against me, they say I'm too jxx>r, 
They say I'm not worthy to enter your door. 

3 My horses ain't hungry, they won't eat your hay, 
Farewell, little darling, I'll be on my way; 

As sure as the dew falls upon the green corn, 
Last night I was with her, to-night she is gone. 



THE TRAIL TO MEXICO 

We have this'mixture of plain facts and romantic language from an informal gathering of news- 
paper workers in Fort Worth, Texas, when tune and text were made known by Jake Zeitlin, Frank 
Wolfe, and an oil driller. It is a cow trail classic, to be delivered earnestly like a witness who 
knows his names and dates and as though everybody knows who A. J. Stinson is. . . . "Get the 
hang of the tune and all the lines are easy to pucker in." 










It was in the mer - ry month of May When I start-ed for Tex - as far 



a - 




way, I left my dar- ling girl be- hind; She said her heart was on - ly mine. 

1 It was in the merry month of May 
When I started for Texas far away, 
I left my darling girl behind; 

She said her heart was only mine. 

2 O it was when I embraced her in my arms, 
I thought she had ten thousand charms; 
Her caresses were soft, her kisses were sweet, 
Saying, "We'll get married next time we meet.** 

8 It was in the year of 'eighty-three 
That A. J. Stinson hired me; 
He says, "Young man, I want you to go 
And follow this herd into Mexico." 

285 



THE TRAIL TO MEXICO 



4 Well, it was early in the year 

When I started out to drive those steers; 
Through sleet and snow 'twas a lonesome go 
As the herd rolled on into Mexico. 

5 When I arrived in Mexico 

I wanted to see my girl hut I could not go; 

So I wrote a letter to my dear 

But not a word for years did I hear. 

6 Well, I started back to my once loved home, 
Inquired for the girl I had called my own; 
They said she had married a richer life, 
Therefore, wild cowboy, seek another wife. 

7 "O bucldie, O buddie, please stay at home, 
Don't forever be on the roam. 

There is many a girl more true than I, 
So pray don't go where the bullets fly." 

8 "O curse your gold and your silver too. 
God pity a girl that won't prove true. 
I'll travel west where the bullets fly. 
I'll stay on the trail till the day I die." 







^-'(f^ 

' \* 

1 l ' 1 :" -V. 1 ll " J '" * /^ ' 




\-^"*1 

-' v-;'^ 



M 



MEXICAN BORDER SONGS 



HARMONIZATION BT PACK 

LA CUCARACHA (MEXICAN COCKROACH SONG) . . . Alfred G. IVotkall . 289 

MAffANiTAS (DE JALISCO) Alfred, 0. Wathatl . 292 

LO QUE DIGO . Alfred G. WaihaU . 94 

EL ABANDONADO . Rupert Hughes .... 295 

CIELTTO LINDO Alfred G. IVaihatt . 98 

ADELITA Alfred G. Wathall .... 800 

VERSOS DE MONTALGO Rupert Hughes . S0 



28T 





Child Drawings from Mexican Folkways 



*88 



LA CUCARACHA (MEXICAN COCKROACH SONG) 

Dark women are good as gold; 
Brunettes like silver win; 
The blondes are only copper, 
And the light ones only tin. 

God made the swarthy women; 
A silversmith the white ones; 
The dark brunettes, a tailor; 
A cobbler the black-as-night ones. 

In his book, "The Land of Poco Tempo," Charles Luinmis gives these verses as instances of 
epigrammatic folk utterances, proverbial rhymes, dichox. Nearly every Mexican sometimes has 
made a dicho, and the fittest of them survive, Ltimmis tells us. They include offhand oddities such 
as this i 

Lovable eyes 

Of coffee hue, 
Give me a kiss 

Of faith all true. 

And they may proclaim lines of highly serious mood: 

There is no better friend than God, 
This is clear and past denying; 
For the dearest may betray, 
The most truthful may be lying. 

We are not surprised that in the song of La Cucaracha (The Cockroach), there is variety of 
theme. Sunny Spain heard the likes of some of the verses before they married a new tune in Mexico. 
And for understanding the banter and satire of other stanzas one would require knowledge of the 
careers of Pancho Villa and Zapata besides an acquaintance with Mexican political and revolution- 
ary history. In 1916 in Chicago I heard the tune and two or three stray verses of La Cucaracha 
from Wallace Smith and Don Magregor, both of whom as newspaper correspondents with a streak 
of outlaw in them, had eaten frijoles with Villa and slept under Pancho's poncho, so to sjieak. Also 
T. K. Hedrick from down Texas way sang the Cockroach song in Mexican. However, we must not 
assume that a cockroach is what the Mexican means in singing these verses. It may l>e a j>et name, 
"The Little Dancer/' we are told by Alice Corbin. For F. S. Curtis, Jr., of the Texas Folk We 
Society observes, "A whole dissertation might be written upon the fact that a cucaracha may be 
either a cockroach or a little, dricd-up old maid, and that the term was also used as a nickname for 
the late Venustiano Carranza; and considerable space might Ixi devoted to explaining that mari- 
huana is a weed, which, when smoked, is capable of producing serious narcotic effects and even 
causing a homicidal mania." Then he queries significantly, "But of what benefit is such stuff to 
the songs of New Mexico?" The text here is from Curtis. He says of the tune, " It strongly sug- 
gests a sixteenth century origin, especially with the guitar accompaniment usually used." 

S89 



LA CUCARACHA 



Allegretto 



Arr. A. G. W. 



When a fcl - low loves a maid-en And that maid - en does -n't love him, 



1i^*jP=$E==f=^=E= 



-* 



^^^^"^5^ 

TT TT 



T* 



^i^m$m 



z^pi= 



rzpL^j- 



itl^pl 

It's the same as when a bald man Finds a comb up - on the high - way. 

/7> 

j T7Z ~_ ""_ n J. I '"tf 
< ,^ _!"-! I . __"_".'_ j ..F 




Cuonuj* 



The <*u - ca - rafh - a, the cu - ca - rach - a Does -n't want to trav - el 



: ^- 






on Bc-causc she has - n't Oh, no, she has - n't Ma - ri- hua-na for to smoke. 






:= 3Er^*~=== -V^^* 

-"l~ r ~? 



^=^=^ 



LA CDCARACHA 



1 Cuando uno quiere a una 
Y esta una no lo quiere, 

Es lo mismo que si un calvo 
En la calle encuentr' un peine. 

Chorus: 

La cucaracha, la cucaracha, 
Ya no quieres caminar, 
Porque no tienes, 
Porque le falta, 
Marihuana que fumar. 

2 Las muchachas son de oro; 
Las casadas son de plata; 
Las viudas son de cobre, 
Y las viejas oja de lata. 

3 Mi vecina de enfrente 
Se llamaba Dofia Clara, 
Y si no habia rauerto 
Es probable se llamara. 

4 Las muchachas de Las Vegas 
Son muy altas y delgaditas, 
Pero son mas pedigueftas 
Que las an i mas benditas. 

5 Las muchachas de la villa 
No saben ni dar un beso, 
Cuando las de Albuquerque 
Hasta estiran el pescuezo. 

6 Las muchachas Mexicanas 
Son lindas como una flor, 
Y hablan tan dulcemente 
Que encantan de amor. 

7 Una cosa me da risa 
Pancho Villa sin camisa. 
Ya se van los Carranzistas 
Porque vienen los Villistas. 

8 Necesita autom6vil 
Par' hacer la caminata 
Al lugar a donde mand6 
La convenei6n Zapata. 



When a fellow loves a maiden 
And that maiden doesn't love him, 
It's the same as when a bald man 
Finds a comb upon the highway. 

Chorus: 

The cucaracha, the cucaracha, 
Doesn't want to travel on 
Because she hasn't, 
Oh no, she hasn't, 
Marihuana for to smoke. 

All the maidens arc of pure gold; 
All the married girls arc silver; 
All the widows are of copjxT, 
And old women merely tin. 

My neighbor across the highway 
Used to be called Dofia Clara, 
And if she has not expired 
Likely that's her name tomorrow. 

All the girls up at Las Vegas 

Arc most awful tall and skinny, 

But they're worse for plaintive pleading 

Than the souls in Purgatory. 

All the girls here in the city 
Don't know how to give you kisses, 
While the ones from Albuquerque 
Stretch their necks to avoid misses. 

All the girls from Mexico 
Are as pretty as a flower 
And they talk so very sweetly, 
Fill your heart quite up with love. 

One thing makes me laugh most hearty - 
Pancho Villa with no shirt on 
Now the Carranzistas beat it 
Because Villa's men are coming. 

Fellow needs an automobile 
If he undertakes the journey 
To the place to which Zapata 
Ordered the famous convention. 



291 



MANANITAS (de Jalisco) 
(EARLY MORNINGS) (from Jalisco) 

Verses and air were published in Mexican Folkways. Luis Moroues, violinist and Chicagoan, 
made a literal translation which was freely rendered by Louis Untermeyer, poet and New Yorker. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



- P ^ ^ l4- 

(1) El dfa en que tu na -cis - te 

r-v~i 



na - cie - 

pzq 




(1) The day that iny dear came to us, The 





ron to - das las flo res, el dfa en que tu na - cis - te can - ta 



jflow'rswcre a -born -ing, too; The day that my dear came to us, The 



^ 



w-J =m- 
$;-'&------- 






_ 

~^~T"~^| ; ~ ;: ^^77 _______ _ 



m. | -{^ - I gf .ft tt~- __.JjL 

y - 1* * U- -g ^ F 1 - - 

ron los rui - sc - fio- rc>s. 



^3E-P=g!$=ggE 



(HKFKAIN) 



Ya vie- ne a ma -ne-cien - do ya la 




night-in -gales trilled their songs. 




Sun - rise is com-ing,is com - ing, The 



yfc\__e: 

%~ 






MANANTTAS 



^-s g- c e ig'g g'g c "E 



luz del dfa nosvi6, ya dis- pier-ta a-mi - ga mia mi-raque yaa-ma - ne - ci6. 



c Ld 



i 



sun has seen us,my dear, A - rise, my lit - tie friend. Look, day light is here. 




1 1 dfa en que tu naciste 
nacieron todas las flores, 
el dfa en que tu naciste 
cantaron los ruiseftores. 

Refrain: 

Ya viene a maneciendo, 
ya la luz del dfa nos vi6, 
ya dispierta amiga uifa 
mira que ya amaneci6. 

2 Quisiera ser solecito 

para entrar por tu ventana, 



y darte los buenos dfas 
acostadita en tu cama. 

3 For la luna doy un peso, 
por el sol doy un tost6n, 
por mi amiga Marianita, 
la vida y el coraz6n. 

4 I)e las estrellas del cielo 
quisiera hajarte dos, 
una para saludarte 

y otra pa deeirte adi6s. 



EARLY MORNINGS 

(English version by Louis Untermeyer) 



1 The day that my dear came to us, 
The flow'rs were a-borning too; 
The day that my dear came to us, 
The nightingales trilled their songs. 

Refrain: 

Sunrise is coming, is coming, 
The sun has seen us, my dear, 
Arise, my little friend, 
Look, day-light is here. 

2 If I were a yellow sunray 
I'd sparkle about your head 



And flicker a bright "Good Morning" 
Before you were out of bed. 

3 For the moon I'd give a dollar 
For the sun a guinea of gold, 
For my sweet friend Marianita 
I'd give my heart and soul. 

4 From all the stars in heaven 
I'd like to bring down two; 

With the one I'd say, "How are you?" 
With the other, "Good bye to you. 



98 



LO QUE DIGO 



Mexican Folkways, the magazine so ably and humanly edited by Frances Toor in Mexico 
City, published the lyric lines and lovely air of this song. Luis Morones, violinist and Chicagoan, 
presented the variant given here, as he heard it and sang it when a youth in Jalisco, Mexico. There, 
he informs us, it was known as the Venadito Song, venadito meaning little deer or offspring of parent 
deer. By many it is considered a characteristic specimen and a superb instance of the Latin- Ameri- 
can love song. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

& 






it 
Lo que di - go dc hoy en di - a, Lo que di - go lo sos - ten - go, 

te~~ "i naj^B isT 

mp 3* \* 1* 5 J 

H= 

t~f- ~~ " ----. - 1. 

|. ) _-. ^ 

. * 

Yo no ven- go a ver si pue - do, Yo no ven- go a ver si peu - do, Yo no 

<- 
< 

par. 

r>.:_tt^ -"::-- tt- 

go a ver si pue - do, Si - no por - que pue - do, ven - go. . . 

iE=EpEZ3B^p^^-*rt 
& ^ iliH ^-y^7 

- T~P~ 

i t^ L _.pT [--& 








Ix) que digo de hoy en dla, 
Ix> que digo lo sostengo, 
Yo no ven go a ver si puedo, 
Yo no ven go a ver si puedo, 
Yo no vengo a ver si puedo, 
Sino porque puedo, vengo. 



1 



From Jalisco 
What I will say today 
I shall always maintain, 
I do not come to see, 
I do not come to see, 
I do not come to see, 
If I can, only because I can* I come. 



294 



LO QUE DIGO 



Los higos y las naranjas 
En el drbol se maduran, 
Los ojitos que se queren, 
Los ojitos que se queren, 
Los ojitos que se queren, 
Dende lejos se saludan. 

3 Y a mf me saludaron 
Aquellos que estoy mirundo, 
Sin poderles contestar, 

Sin ix)derles contestar, 
Sin poderles contestar, 
Su mama" me estii mirando. 

4 A las once de la noche 
Alld te cspero en el Kiosco, 
Pa que sepas que te quero, 
Pa que sepas que te quero, 
Pa que sepas que te quero, 
Y el miedo no lo conozco. 



fc Figs and oranges 
In the tret* mature, 
Little eyes that love each other, 
Little eyes that love each other, 
Little eyes that love each other, 
From afar they say "Hello!" 

8 And they said hello to me, 
Those little eyes, I sec, 
I can not answer though, 
I can not answer though, 
I can not answer though, 
For mother is watching. 

4 At eleven o'clock tonight 

I shall ho waiting in the Kiosco 
You will know I love you, 
You will know I love you, 
You will know I love you, 
And fear I do not know. 



EL AHANDONADO 
MEXICAN FOLK SONG 

"The love song is by far the most common of all Mexican folk-songs. During the trail driving 
days many of the cowboys who drove herds from Southern Texas to Kansas and beyond were Mexi- 
cans. I have often asked old trail drivers if the raqncros had any such songs as the Texas cowboy H 
had. Invariably the answer has been that the vaqueros sang little efoe but love songs. Thus 
wrote Frank J. Dobie, Secretary of the Texas Folk Ix>rc Society, in No. tt of the publications of that 
organization. Of El Abandonado he wrote that it is one of the most popular of all Mexican songs, 
"is sung wherever Mexicans live," and is representative "of that large body of Mexican love songs 
to be heard day and night whether in camp or at fiesta.'* Each verse here is given in Mexican, 
followed by free translation into English, as presented by Dobie. 



Lento mapflfcofio 



Arr. R. II. 




EL ABANDONADO 



do - rias - tcs, urn - jer, 




HI -t -_-- 



cpje 



soy muy po - brc ... Y la des - gra - cia 



- -r _-.--_. - - -f J ..-& 4. 

1 I 1 a ' ''''I r*' - -'-* ~\ gf'-*-- -^.'--' - I- -. iTl.'i^' I 

?_. **" -*5- -i**- I V X ' X ^ 




"g. 



es wr Iio.n - brc a 













pa - sion - a - do. Pues q\\6 he de 






x x i 



296 



EL ABANDONADO 



f f f f 

i I LJ " 



-j-; :;. 



ha 



cer, 



si yo soy el a - ban - do - na - do? . . 




Pues qu6 he de ha - cer, se - rd por el a 



P - 
inor 



<le Dios. 







4 j 

| f - I *. 4- _L 

L -+-$> ' * 




1 Me abandonastes, miijcr, ponjue soy muy pobre 
Y la desgraeia es ser liombre apasionado. 

Pucs qu6 he dc hacer, si yo soy el abandonado? 
Pues qu6 he de haccr, sent jx>r el amor de Dios. 

You abandon me, woman, because I am very poor; the misfortune is to be a man of passionate 
devotion. Then, what am I to do if I am the abandoned one? Well, whatever I am to do will be 
done by the will of God. 

2 Tres vicios tengo, los tres tengo adoptados: 
El ser borracho, jugador, y cnamorado. 
Pues qu6 he de hacer si soy el abandonado? 
Pues qu6 he dc hacer, serii por el amor de Dios. 

Three vices I have cultivated: drunkenness, gambling, and love. Then what am I to do if I 
am the abandoned one? Well, whatever I am to do will be done by the will of God. 

3 Pero ando ingrato si con mi amor no quedo; 

Tal vez otro hombre con su amor se habrd jugado. 
Pues qu6 he de hacer, si soy el abandonado? 
Pues qu he de hacer, serd por el amor de Dio. 

But I go unhappy if with my love I cannot remain. Perhaps another man has toyed with her 
love. Then what am I to do if I am the abandoned one? Well, whatever I am to do will be done 

by the will of God. 

297 



CIELITO LINDO 



In the southwestern states on the Mexican border are a million or more citkena'of the United 
States, having Latin, North American Indian, or Nordic mother tongues, who sing Cielito Lindo 
only in Spanish. The text and tune here are from Luis Morones of Chicago, in the version most 
familiar to him since birth and education in Mexico, and residence in border states. 



Con moto, ma tramjuillo 



Arr. A. G. W. 

^-^^^gj=jb f= P = ^jfe^^ i s^^^ 

I)c la Si - c - rra Mo - ro - na, Cie - li - to Lin - do, Vie - ncn ba - 




___4 ^ -,-4 

.__ - , ~ . - j 



E ~3 J ;" ; al^ 

" * * 



Leggiensswio ^ = : 




jan - do . . 



un par do o - ji - tos nc - gros Cie - li - to 






CHORUS 



^^ 



Lin - do de . Con - tra - ban - do. ... 



iAy, 



Ay, Ay, 



CIKUTO UNDO 




J. j.J, 



m 



Ay! . . . 
* 



Can 



ta y no llo - res, , . 



per - quc can - tan- 



<F T1-^ HF- V^^X N^__^X >. 



^ L4====n4r^=rr=t 

rr 1-^==% --P^ 

ft^ T= ^** -^ 



^^^=gi?M^ 




do se a - le - gran Cie - li - to Lin - do los co - ra - zo - nes. ,=r 




1 De la sierra morena, 

cielito lindo, 

vicnen bajando 

un par de ojitos negros 

cielilo lindo 

dc contrabando. 

Chorus: 

jAy, ay, ay, ay! 

canta y no llores, 

porque cantando sc alcgran 

cielito lindo 

los corazones. 

2 Una flecha en el aire 

cielito lindo 

Ianz6 Cupido 

y co mo fu<5 jugando, 

cielito lindo, 

yo fuf el herido. 

S Pdjaro que abandona 
cielito lindo 
su primer nido, 



vuolvo y lo halla ocupado 

cielito lindo 

y rnuy mcrccido. 

4 Eae lunar que ticnea 
cielito lindo 
junto a la lxx*a, 
no He lo den a nadie 
cielito lindo, 
que a ml ino toca, 

6 Todas las iluciones 
cielito lindo 
que el amor fragua, 
son como las espumas 
cielito lindo 
que forma el agua. 

jAy, ay, ay, ay! 

sub(n y rrecen 

y con el rni.smo viento 

cielito lindo, 

desaparecen, 



299 



ADELITA 

The simple song of Adelita is widely known in the Southwest, survives time and usage, and 
takes added vitality from the infusion of new verses. I have heard it from the box-car bunk-houses 
of Mexican railroad workers in Elmhurst, Illinois, and from a singing guitar player who passed the 
hat in the Mexican quarter in Los Angeles, California. I heard the Mayor of Santa Fe, New Mexico, 
one afternoon command ten of his constituents and subjects to sing it in unison and in Spanish 
which they did. . . . The text and air here are from F. S. Curtis, Jr., who notes that with the possible 
exception of stanzas 1 and 5, it is distinctly Mexican in subject matter. "The number of stanzas 
available is very nearly unlimited. The version given here was selected because there is a reasonable 
amount of connection between the stanzas." 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Con inoto, ma con eHpromione 



A - de - 11 - la's the name of the la - dy . . Who was mis - tress of 
mft 

"la. ".""r 3 ^" ~T ~ ~~~ - , p~~~ 




all my pleas - ures here. 



Nev - er think I can come to for - 



.j ^" : a^^j~ 

^r^ 





get her, . . Nor to change her for an - y oth - er dear. . . . 




300 



ADEUTA 



1 Adelita se llama la ingrata, 
La qu* era duefia de todo mi placer. 
Nunca piensas que llegue a olvidarla 
Nl cambiarla por otra mujer. 

Si Adelita quisiera ser mi esposa, 
Si Adelita fuera mi mujer, 
Le comprarfa un vestido de seda 
Y la llevara a pasear el cuartel. 

3 Ya me llama el clarfn de campafia 
Como soldado valiente a pelear. 
Correrrd por los calles la sangre 
Pero olvidarte jamas me ver&. 

4 Si acaso yo muero en campafia 

Y mi cadaver en la tierra va a quedar, 

Adelita, por Dos te la ruego 

Que por mf muerte tu vayas a llorar. 

5 Adelita es una fronteriza 

Con ojos verdes, color de la mar, 
Que trae locos a todos los hombrcs 
Y a todos les hace llorar. 

6 Si Adelita se fuere con otro 
La seguirfa la huella sin cesar, 
En aeroplanes y buques de guerra 
Y por tierra hast' en tren militar. 



Adelita's the name of the lady 
Who was the mistress of all my pleasures here. 
Never think I can come to forget her, 
Nor to change her for any other dear. 

If Adelita would take me for a husband, 
If Adelita would only be my wife, 
I would buy her a costume of satin 
And I'd give her a taste of barracks life. 

Now the trumi>ct to battle does call me 
To fight as every valiant soldier should. 
In the streets then the blood will be running, 
But 'twill never see me forget thcc. 

If j>crhaps I should die in the battle, 
And my poor corpse be left upon the field, 
Adelita, for God's sake I pray thec 
For my death thou wilt shed but one tear. 

Adelita's a desperate coquette 
With deep green eyes, the color of the sea, 
Who drives all the men to distraction 
And makes them all weep bitterly. 

Should Adelita run of! with another, 
I'd trail her always, forever, near and far, 
Both in airplanes and ships of the navy, 
And on land in a military train. 




VERSOS DE MONTALGO 

"In the year 1900, Encarnacion Garcia waylaid and killed another Mexican in Cameron County. 
Montalgo, a Mexican deputy sheriff, rode up on Encarnacion as the latter was burying his victim. 
Kncarnadori resisted arrest, or at least Montalgo always so claimed, and Montalgo killed him. Ten 
years later to a day, Kricarnacion's genie got their revenge by killing Montalgo." Thus Frank J. 
Dohie, of the Texas Folk Ix>rc Society, gives in brief the facts leading to this ballad in its opening 
verses. As to the closing stanzas he notes, "Sandoval had a little ranch and herded goats. He sang 
this song to rny brother and presumably had composed it, certainly the last three stanzas. San- 
doval came up to the (iranjeno gate while the crowd were viewing the restos of Montalgo. Hino- 
josa, a deputy sheriff from Brownsville, came up, did nothing about the murder but arrested poor 
old Swidoval for killing the vcnaditoji" . . . "These people of Manoa" refers to a family of Mexicans 
that owned a little ranch near by; they were in sympathy with the sisters of the murdered Mon- 
talgo; authorities at Brownsville deputized the head of the Manoa family to act as sheriff. . . . 
Kdal in the first stanza "seems to be a Mcxicanisrn not recorded in the dictionaries," Dobie notes. 
Alma/un is u ranch west of Lyford. Kl puerto (masculine) is irregularly used for la puerta (feminine) 
in the fourth and sixth stanzas; there seems to lie authority for such interchange of usage in Spanish 
manuscripts dating as far back as 1700. . . . "Versos" Dobie also notes, "as understood and used 
by Texas Mexicans, are songs or verses, of folk composition in contradistinction to canciones* songs 
derived from more or less literary purveyors, though cannon (song or ballad) is also frequently 
applied to verses of loeal composition. For Versos de Montalgo I am indebted to my brother, Elrich 
H. Dobie, who learned them while he was caporal (boss of a cow outfit) on the King Ranch in South 
Texas, 1016-1917. He says the vaqueros frequently made up songs on local happenings. A white 
maverick bull killed two or three horses and had to be shot. A Mexican made up a song on the 
subject and for a while it was widely sung by the King Ilanch Mexicans. A raid, a killing, a ladino 
(outlaw) horse or steer, a stampede, a daring rider these are characteristic themes for vaquero 
improvisation.** . . . The following is one of several stories of Lost Ballads that Frank Dobie tells: 
"In the summer of 1!KM, I was with Captain Will Wright's rangers, when they raided a band of 
tequila .smugglers on the Nueces River in La Salle County. It was an interesting raid; one smuggler 
had to be killed and over a thousand quarts of tequila were captured. I am told that a very long 
song was composed on the subject, in which certain gringos, including myself, are not very well 
spoken of. Much to my disappointment, I have been unable to hear the song or secure a copy 
of it/ 1 



Arr. R. H. 



Allegro 




S02 



VERSOS DE MONTALGO 



m 



Bt 



^ 



En el mil nueve cien - tos y di -ez Y los 



euen - to sin e - dal- 

>TN 








if: 



A Mon-tal - go le ma-ta-ron Or - ea del ca - mi -no re-al. 

/t\ 




1 En el rail nucv r c cientos y diez 
Y los cuento sin eclal 

A Montalgo le mataron 
Cerca del carnino real. 

2 A Montalgo le mataron, 
Le mataron sin raz6n, 

A los diez aftos cumplidos 
Que le mat 6 a Encarnaci6n. 

3 Lunes en la mafiana 
Sali6 del Almazan. 
Montalgo no sabfa 
Que le tciiian su plan. 

4 A las tres sali6 de Lyford 
En su caballo bayito, 

En el Puerto del Granjeno 
Ahf le formaron sitio. 



In the year 1010 and I give the date with- 
out uncertainty they killed Montalgo near 
the public road. 



They killed Montalgo, killed him without 
reason, after ten years had passed from the 
time he killed Encarnaci6n. 



Monday in the morning Montalgo left the 
Almazan. He did not know that there was a 
plot against him. 



At three o'clock in the afternoon he left 
Lyford on his dun horse. At the gate called 
Granjeno his enemies had laid an ambush. 



803 



VERSOS DE MONTALGO 



6 Cuanclo Montalgo cay 6, 
1 malhecho le dec fa: 
"No te asustan, Montalgo; 
Pdgaste lo que debfas." 

Y perdido estuvo un mes, 
Eso dicen por cierto, 
Que eri el Puerto del Granjeno 
Ahf le liallaron rnuerto. 

7 Al mes hallaron los restos 
Envueltos en un costal; 
Arriha tenfan hierba.s, 

Y rna.s arriha nopal. 

8 Cuando we junt6 la gente, 
E.stuvieron mcdio dfa; 

La mayor parte decfa 
"jVAlgame Diosf <jcorno serfa?' 

9 Las Hermanns de Montalgo 
Lloruron sin companion 
"|C)h, Montalgo, to mataron 
A traicion!" 

10 Esta gente del Manoa 
Ayudaron de corn 7,611; 
Y a las scis u ocho dfas 
Le mandaron eoniision. 

11 Al pobrc Sandoval 

Le pegaron sin tuerea; 

Le subieron a express 

Con dos vcnaditas muertas. 

12 En el camino arreglarou 
Con el seftor Ilinojosa 
Con veinticineo moneas 
Que le dicron. 

13 El que eompuso esos versos 
No sabfa lo que decfa; 
Anda va cuidnndo cnbras 
Que no se corta la gufa. 



When Montalgo fell, murder said to him: 
"You need not be scared, Montalgo; pay what 
you owe." 



He (that is, Montalgo's body) was lost for a 
month. This is said for a certainty; that at 
the Granjeno gate they found him dead. 



At the end of a month they found the remains 
wrapped up in a sack; on top of them were 
weeds and on top of the weeds prickly pear was 
piled. 

When the people got together, they remained 
assembled for half a day. "Good God!*' most 
of them cried, "how did this come about?*' 



Montalgo's sisters wept most piteously. "Oh, 
Montalgo!" they cried, "they have murdered 
you through treason." 



These people of Manoa out of a good heart 
helped the sisters. In six or eight days they 
(the proper authorities) sent him (the head of 
the Manoa family) a commission. 

Poor Sandoval they nabbed without hand- 
cuffs, and hoisted him up on his wagon along 
with two little deer that he had killed. 



On the road they fixed it up with Seftor Hino- 
josa by paying him $5. 



The fellow who made these verses did not 
know what he was talking about. Let him care 
for his goats and see that some bell-wether does 
not cut off with a bunch of them. 



804 



SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS 



WAY UP ON CLINCH MOUNTAIN 

LIZA IN THE SUMMER TIME (SHE DIED ON THE TRAIN) 

COON CAN (POOR BOY) 

GYPSY DAVY 

THE ROVING GAMBLER 

YONDER COMES MY PRETTY LITTLE GIRL . 

THE GAMBOLING MAN 

BURY ME BENEATH THE WILLOW .... 
MAG'S SONG 

THE ORPHAN GIRL OR NO BREAD FOR THE POOH . 

1 GOT A GAL AT THE HEAD OF THE HOLLER . 

LONESOME ROAD 

FOND AFFECTION 

GO BRING ME BACK MY BLUE-EYED BOY . 

LONDON CITY 

THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN 

I DON'T LIKE NO RAILROAD MAN .... 



HARMONIZATION BY 

Alfred G. W alkali 
Alfred 0. U'atliall 



Alfred G. WaUiall . . 

Lillian Rosed ale Goodman 
Alfred G. Watltall . 

Hazel Felman 
Rutfi Crawford 



Alfred 6\ Wathall . 
Hazel Felman 



PAQ 

307 
.308 
310 
311 
312 
313 
313 
314 
316 
319 
3*0 
3** 
333 
3*4 
3*4 
3*5 
3*6 



805 



In 1917 I met Cecil J. Sharp, Director of the Stratford-upon-Avon School of Folk Lore and 
Folk Dancing. He was at Knoxville, Tennessee, just back from the mountains, joyful over a book 
full of new ballads, copied down as people had sung them to him. "These missionaries with their 
schools!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I'd like to build a wall around these mountains and let the 
mountain people alone. The only distinctive culture in America is here. These people live. They 
sustain themselves on the meanest food. They are not interested in eating, but they have time 
to sing ballads." . . . 

When these people emigrated to this continent, many of them landed at Philadelphia to join 
Penn's more tolerant colony. Gradually they pushed their way up the Cumberland Valley into 
Maryland, then up the valley of the Shenandoah and the narrow valleys of southwestern Virginia. 
Then they pressed beyond the Cumberland Gap arid gradually took possession of the great region 
of the Southern Appalachians. As Bishop Burleson well puts it: 

"Most of them broke through the barrier of the mountains and founded new commonwealths 
in Kentucky and Tennessee. But some stopped in the mountains. A horse died, a cart broke 
down, a young couple could not leave the little grave of their only child; fatigue, illness, the lure 
of the mountains now it was one thing and now another; but when the host had passed, there 
were scattered dwellings being reared among the great hills, and a few hundreds progenitors of 
many thousands had Ircgun a course of life which was to continue unchanged for generations. 
They came in poor, . . . and they are today the poorest people in America. As in all races, there 
are different grades among them, ranging from the fairly well-to-do farmers along the river valleys 
to the squatters in the cabins on the high mountains, where the cultivated land is often so steep 
that the harvested crops can only be brought down in sleds." ... 

Illiteracy is high in the Southern Highlands, but illiteracy does not prove anything about one's 
brain capacity. We were all recently illiterate, and furthermore, gentlemen are born, not made 
with print. Friends of the mountaineer state it thus: 

"It is the fatal fallacy of a public-schooled world that literacy is counted the earmark of civi- 
lisation. The keenest intelligence, the sweetest behavior, the most high-born distinction of manner 
are gifts of the gods to those who can neither read nor write. A dear friend once said: *We-uns 
that cain't read or write have a heap of time to think, and that's the reason we know more than 
you-all.'" 

" If the time ever comes when the requirements for citizenship are based on intelligence rather 
than on information, perhaps these |>eople will make a better showing than the multitude in cities 
who have just enough education to read the sporting pages of the newspapers." 

J. RUSSELL SMITH in North America. 



806 



WAY UP ON CLINCH MOUNTAIN 

This song has a thousand verses, perhaps going back to the Scotch of the 17th century, we are 
told. It is the daddy, probably, of many of the Lulu songs. There is poetry, now wayward, now 
wild, in these stanzas, of moods like Robert Burns and like Provencal balladists of France. Usually 
singers keep to one tune throughout but I have heard singers make their independent variations with 
some stanzas. At its best it delivers a character and parts of a life story. 

Arr. A. G. W. 






j ^ m 



WayuponClinchMountain,Iwandera-lone; I'masdrunkasthedev-il, Oh, let me a-lone! 




1 Way up on Clinch Mountain, 

I wander alone; 
I'm as drunk as the devil, 
Oh, let me alone! 

2 I'll eat when I'm hungry, 

En drink when I'm dry; 
If whisky don't kill me, 
I'll live till I die. 

5 Jack o' diamonds, jack o* diamonds, 

I know you of old, 
You rob my jx>or pockets, 
Of silver and gold. 

B 



3 Rye whisky, rye whisky, 

I know you of old, 
You roh my poor pockets 
Of silver and gold. 

4 Rye whisky, rye whisky, 

You're no friend to me. 
You killed my old daddy, 
God damn you, try me. 






& 









Way up on Clinch Mountain where the wild geese fly high, I'll think of little Allie en lay down en die. 




1 Way up on Clinch Mountain where the wild 2 You may boast of yore knowledge, cri brag o* 

geese fly high, yore sense, 

I'll think of little Allie en lay down en die. Twill all be forgotten a hundred years hence. 

8 Oh Lulu, oh Lulu, oh Lulu, my dear, 

I'd give the whole world if my Lulu was hyer. 
307 



LIZA IN THE SUMMER TIME (She Died on the Train) 



The arrangement of air and words here is based on a song heard by Charles Rockwood of 
Geneva, Illinois, during a residence in North Carolina mountains. Lines from old British ballads 
mingle with mountaineer lingo as in the word "mountings;" negro influence is not absent. This 
may be an instance of the song that starts among people who have a tune, who want to sing, who 
join together on an improvisation, reaching out for any kind of verses, inventing, repeating, marrying 
Scotch lyrics with black-face minstrel ditties; in the end comes a song that pleases them for their 
purposes. Its mood varies here from the lugubrious to the light-hearted. The way to sing it is 

"as you like it." 

Air. A. G. W. 




Li - za in the sum -tm*r- time, Li - za in the fa.ll, 







-* it. 

r^k^ijg 



J. 

^ 



can't be IA - za all the timo, I won't be Li - za 'tall. 




5 r 






~^~ 




h-i=J 




4 




^ LJ 


+ 


.J. <* 




TT 


^ 




5^j 





CHORUS: 






IV liT Li-za, po' gal, po' li'l' Li - za Jane, Po f HT Li - za, po' HT 







308 



LIZA IN THE SUMMKH TIME 



she died on the train, She died on the train, she. died on the train* 




1 Liza in the summer time, Liza in the fall, 

If I can't be Liza all the time, I won't be Liza 't all. 

Chorus: IV HT Liza, p<>* gal, po' liT Liza Jane, 

Po' liT Liza, po* HT gal, she died on the train, 
She died on the train, she died on the train. 

2 When I go up in the mountings and give my horn a blow, 

I think I hear my true love say, " Yonder comes my beau." 

Chorus: Po' liT Liza, etc. 

3 I wish I had my needle and thread fine as I can sew, 

I'd sew my true love to my side and down the road we'd go. 

Chorus: Po' HT Liza, etc. 

4 Her face was of a ruddy hue, her hair a chestnut brown. 

Her eyes were like a thunder cloud before the lain comes down. 

Chorus: Po' liT Liza, etc. 




309 



COON CAN (POOR BOY) 



Of Fort Smith, Arkaasaa, we have heard, " There is no fort there and they have forgotten which 
Smith it was named after/' It is a town where they sing Coon Can and Poor Boy; either name is 
correct, according to Kate Webber of Fort Smith and Chicago, who communicated the tune and 
one verse, other verses coming by fast freight with no demurrage from Jack Hagerty of Los Angeles. 
Its moral is plain: retribution overtakes the wrongdoer; years in the penitentiary are long. Folk 
songs are often like this; they leave the hearer to piece out the story. . . . The boy is found 
guilty of killing a woman. Why lie killed her, his excuses, and explanations, are not told. There 
must have been extenuating circumstances, or the jury was impressed by the youthful aspect of the 
prisoner at the bar, in addition to the mother's testimony that he was always a good boy. 




My rnoth-er called me to her deuth-bed side, These words she said to me: .... If 







"TTT f* r *" 

you don't mend your rov - in' ways They'll put you in the pen - i- ten -tia 







They'll put you iu the pen - i - ten - tia - ry, poor boy, They'll 




put you in the pen - i - ten- tia- ry; 



If you don't mend your 




Jf JLJ.J3 



rr 

rov - in* ways They'll put you in the pen - i - ten - tia - ry. 



1 My mother called me to her deathbed side, these words she said to me: 
"If your don't mend your rovin' ways, they'll put you in the penitentiary, 
They'll put you in the penitentiary, poor boy, they'll put you in the penitentiary, 
If you don't mend your rovin' ways, they'll put you in the penitentiary." 

8 I sat me down to play coon can, could scarcely read my hand, 
A thinkin* about the woman I loved, ran away with another man. 
Ran away with another man, poor boy, ran away with another man. 
I was thinkin' about the woman I loved, ran away with another man. 

910 



COON CAN (POOR BOY) 

8 I'm a standin* on the corner, in front of a jewelry store, 
Big policeman taps me on the back, says, "You ain't a goin* to kill no more." 
Says, "You ain't a goin' to kill no more, poor boy," says, "You ain't a goin' to kill no more/ 
Big policeman taps me on the back, says, "You ain't a goin' to kill no more." 

4 "Oh, cruel, kind judge, oh, cruel, kind judge, what are you goin' to do with me?" 
"If that jury finds you guilty, poor boy, I'm goin' to send you to the penitentiary. 

I'm goin' to send you to the penitentiary, poor boy, goin' to send you to the penitentiary. 
If that jury finds you guilty, poor boy, I'm goin' to send you to the penitentiary." 

5 Well, the jury found him guilty, the clerk he wrote it down, 

The judge pronounced his sentence, poor boy; ten long years in Himtsville town. 
Ten long years in Himtsville town, poor boy, ten long years in Huntsville town; 
The judge pronounced his sentence, poor boy, ten long years in Huntsville town. 

6 The iron gate clanged behind him, he heard the warden say, 

"Ten long years for you in prison, poor boy, yes, it's ten long years for you this day. 
Ten long years for you in prison, poor boy, yes, it's ten long years this day." 
As the iron gate clanged behind him, that's what he heard the warden say. 



GYPSY DAVY 

A fragment of an old ballad lives on in versions of two verses or ten, with many varying accounts 
of what happened between the two men and the one woman. 




rjHA=+f^ 



4: 









3: 



I was a high - born gen -tie -man, She was a high-born la - dy, We 










lived in the pal - ace great and tail. Till she met with Gyp -ay Da - vy. 



1 I was a high-born gentleman, 
She was a high-bora lady. 
We lived in a palace great and tall, 
Till she met with Gypsy Davy. 



Last night she slept in a goose-feather bed, 
With her arms around her baby. 

To-night she lies in the cold, cold ground 
In the arms of her Gypsy Davy. 



911 



THE ROVING GAMBLER 

Girls with a wild streak, in the farther yesterdays, often lost their hearts to the man in dapper 
clothes, with a big gold watch-chain across his vest, and with plenty of money. ("I don't care 
where he gets it.") That the man was a stranger in town, that he was a gambler, that he introduced 
himself saying, "Corne with me, girlie" were points in favor of his audacity, nerve. Such a 
couple, jack and queen, are briefly sketched in this song. The later chapters, whether she had to 
take in washing, whether he was converted at a religious revival and set himself up in a respectable 
business, we do not know. There is a swing and self-assurance to the tune and words, the swagger 
of the old-tirne minstrel troupe going down Main Street arid around the public square, led by the 
high-hat drum-major holding aloft a long baton with a golden ball gleaming on the end. In the 
mischievous, Yonder Comes My Pretty Little Girl, text B, is an authentic folk song found by 
R. W. Gordon on a southern tour. From Delancy's Songbook No. 23, we give the text C, with 
repeated lines eliminated, of a piece called The Gamboling Man. This is evidently the popular 
song of English origin from which the southern and western minstrel troupes made their verses, 
Delaney tells us. We may note, in passing, that while gamblers may gambol and gambolers may 
gamble, the English version carries no deck of cards. 

AIT. A. G. W. 



t t . 
('on moto, tranqiiuu* 




^ 










"W " p p 

ing gam - bier, I've gam - bled all a - round, Wher- 



r 



a 







poco rit. 



m 



1 



^ 



ev - er I meet with a deck of cards I lie my mon - ey down. 




1 I am a roving gambler, I've gambled all around, 
Wherever I meet with a deck of cards I lie my money down. 

% I've gambled down in Washington and I've gambled over in Spain; 
I am on my way to Georgia to knock down my last game. 

8 I had not been in Washington many more weeks than three, 
Till I fell in love with a pretty little girl and she fell in love with me. 

313 



THE ROVING GAMBLER 

4 She took me in her parlor, she cooled me with her fan, 

She whispered low in her mother's ears, "I love this gambling man!'* 

5 "O daughter, O dear daughter, how could you treat me so, 
To leave your dear old mother and with a gambler go?" 

6 "O mother, O dear mother, you know I love you well, 

But the love I hold for this gambling man no human tongue can tell. 

7 "I wouldn't marry a farmer, for he's always in the rain; 

The man I want is the gambling man who wears the big gold chain. 

8 "I wouldn't marry a doctor, he is always gone from home: 
All I want is the gambling man, for he won't leave me alone. 

9 "I wouldn't marry a railroad man, and this is the reason why; 
I never seen a railroad man that wouldn't tell his wife a lie. 

10 "I hear the train a -coming, she's coming around the curve, 
Whistling and a-blowing and straining every nerve. 

11 "O mother, O dear mother, I'll tell you if I can; 

If you ever see me coming back again I'll be with the gambling man." 

B 
YONDER COMES MY PRETTY LITTLE GIRL 

1 Yonder comes my pretty little girl, 2 Yonder comes my pretty little girl, 
She's a-goin* all dressed in red. How do you know? 

I looked down at her pretty little feet, I know her by her bright apron strings 

I wish my wife was dead. Hangin' down so low. 

3 O, I've gambled in the wildwoods, 
I've gambled in the Lane; 
I've gambled in the wildwoods 
And I never lost a game. 

c 

THE GAMBOLING MAN 

1 I am a roving traveler and go from town to town, 
Whene'er I see a table spread so merrily I sit down. 

I had not been traveling but a few days, perhaps three, 

When I fell in love with a Ix>ndon girl, and she in love with me. 

8 She took me to her dwelling and cooled me with a fan. 

She whispered low in her mother's ear, I love the gamboling man. 

4 Oh, daughter, dear daughter, how could you treat me so, 
To leave your poor old mother and with the gamboler go? 

5 'Tis true I love you dearly, 'tis true I love you well, 

But the love I have for the gamboling man no human tongue can tell* 

6 So I'll bundle up my clothing, with him will leave my home, 
I'll travel the world over wherever he may roam. 

313 



O BURY ME BENEATH THE WILLOW 



"How docs the tune go?" a mountaineer was asked about a song. "It's sad-like", was his 
reply. . . . Who that has looked at the night stars from under a weeping willow tree, can fail 
to find here its saturated mournfulness, almost murmuring, "Pity me, weep with me over what I 
had that's gone." The branches droop with a moist melancholy as though knowing a blessedness 
of tears. . . . Variants of this are heard in all states. ... It is old. . . . The tune 
is from Jake Zeitlin, the text rounded out by verses from R. W. Gordon. 



Andante moderate 



Arr. L. R. G. 








r 



bur 



y me be - neath the wil - low, , 



Be- 






r" 



T- 



neath the weep -ing wil -low tree; And when he comes he'll find me 




314 



O BUKY ME BENEATH THE WILLOW 



J 



sleep-ing 



And per - haps he'll weep fop me. 




1 O bury me beneath the willow, 
Beneath the weeping willow tree, 

And when he comes he'll find me sleeping 
And perhaps he'll weep for me. 

2 Tomorrow was our wedding day, 
But God only knows where he is. 
He's gone, he's gone to seek another 
He no longer cares for me. 

3 My heart's in sorrow, I'm in trouble, 
Grieving for the one I love 

For oh, I know I'll never see him 
Till we meet in Heaven above. 



4 They told me that he did not love me, 
But how could I believe them true 
Until an angel whispered softly, 

" He will prove untrue to you." 

5 Place on my grave a snow-white lily 
For to prove my love was true; 

To show the world I died to save him 
But his love I could not win. 

6 So bury me beneath the willow, 
Beneath the weeping willow tree, 

And when he comes he'll find me sleeping 
And perhaps he'll think of me. 




815 



MAG'S SONG 



The cold winter night, the falling snow, the poor girl outside looking in, the rich man, hard- 
hearted and comfortable, letting the girl outside freeze to death : these classic devices of melodrama 
are in Mag's Song. Kentuckians and Tennesseans, who formed a considerable part of the early 
settlers of Iowa, probably brought this song to that state, where it was heard by Edwin Ford Piper. 
It seems to be part of a ballad of thirty or forty stanzas of human woe from the Appalachians. Of 
course, farther back, it traces to a broadside or a popular ballad in England or Scotland. By 
cutting out all but two verses of this piece, we have the substance of a small melodrama that delivers 
swiftly. It erects an immense stage, puts the two chief puppets through their actions, and keeps 
"in character" to the finale. Alfred Wathall has created a tumultuous musical setting for it. 
The text B w a variant called The Orphan Girl or No Bread for the Poor. 

Arr. A. G. W. 




^ggqiii: ji J 



FE| 



The rich man lay on his vel - vet couch, 

mf) mf 



He 




^E 






ate from plates of gold; 




318 



MAG'S SONG 



-^ *- 



poor girl stood on the mar - blc step, 



And 




ritard ^. molto 







cried, "So cold, so cold!" 




Three years went by and the rich man died; 







-I "I H -4- 



817 



MAG'S SONG 

; fdramatico molto ^^^ >. 



ff 



He de - scend-ed to fier 




mf) a tempo 



e d J f 



rit molto arcel. 



The poor girl lay in an an - gel's arms . . 

8va 







And sighed, "All's wellairs well!" 




Fed 



318 



MAG'S SONG 

1 The rich man lay on his velvet couch, 

He ate from plates of gold; 
A poor girl stood on the marble step, 
And cried, "So cold, so cold!' 1 

2 Three years went by and the rich man died; 

He descended to fiery hell; 
The poor girl lay in an angel's arms 
And sighed, "All's wellall's well!" 

B 
THE ORPHAN GIRL or NO BREAD FOR THE POOR 

1 "No home, no home," cried an orphan girl 

At the door of a princely hall, 
As she trembling stood on tho j>olished steps 
And leaned on the marble wall. 

2 Her clothes were torn and her head was bare 

And she tried to cover her foot 

With her dress that was tattered and covered with snow, 
Yes, covered with snow and sleet. 

3 Her dress was thin and her feet were bare 

And the snow had covered her head. 
"Oh, give me a home," she feebly cried, 
"A home and a piece of bread." 

4 "My father, alas, I never knew." 

Tears dimmed the eyes so bright. 
"My mother sleeps in a new-made grave, 
'Tis an orphan that begs to-night." 

6 "I must freeze," she cried as she sank on the steps 

And strove to cover her feet 
With her ragged garments covered with snow, 
Yes, covered with snow and si eel . 

6 The rich man lay on his velvet couch 

And dreamed of his silver and gold 
While the orphan girl in her bed of snow 
Was murmuring, "So cold, so cold." 

7 The night was dark and the snow fell fast 

As the rich man closed his door, 
And his proud lips curled with scorn as he said, 
"No bread, no room, for the poor." 

8 The morning dawned but the orphan girl 

Still lay at the rich man's door 
And her soul had fled to that home above 
Where there's bread and room for the poor. 

819 



I GOT A GAL AT THE HEAD OF THE HOLLER 

This arrangement of Sourwood Mountain is based chiefly on one from Mary Leaphart. Com- 
pany square dances, hoedowns, shindigs, or individual clogs and shuffles, work out to this tune. 
A yodel in steady staccato, a piece of mountain born pleasantry and jubilation, it is out of the 
human cloth from which Tom Jefferson wrote, "All men are free and equal", and should not be 
interfered with "in the pursuit of happiness." Those who make a song like this don't care a hoot 
whether it is called good music. Their answer to any criticism might be, "Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle- 
ah-de-day." . . . This Kentucky version may trace to North Carolina mountains where 
R. W. Gordon heard a verse as follows: 



I have a lover in Sourwood, 

She's gone cripply and blind, 

She broke the heart of many a poor feller 

But she ain't broke thi.s'n of mine. 



Arr. H. F. 




J .'Ol J (i p^l j ;. j J". | 



I got a gal at the head of the hol-ler, Ho- dee -ink-turn - did-dle-ah-dee-day; 








~ '.._..._ T~" 



I 




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i. -------- 

tt- . 



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She won't come and I won't fol - ler; 





i 



320 



I GOT A GAL AT THE HEAD OF THE HOLLER 

FINE 



zm 



PS 



-t 



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Ho - dee - ink - turn - did -die -ah -dee -day. 




1 I got a gal at the head of the holler, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
She won't come and I won't f oiler; 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 



8 Some of these days, before very long, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
I'll get a gal and a-home I'll run, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 



2 She sits up with old Si Hall, 

Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day; 
Me and Jeff can't go there at all. 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 



4 Big dog bark an* the little one'll bite you, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah -dee-day ; 
Big gal court an' the little one'll marry you, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 



5 Geese in the pond and ducks in the ocean, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day ; 
Devil's in the women when they take a notion, 
Ho-dee-ink-tum-diddle-ah-dee-day. 




821 



LONESOME ROAD 

The lyric of a desperate heart swings into a cry of self-pity and a hymn of personal hate. 
Waldron P. Webb of the Texas Folk Lore Society sang an early negro version of this for me one 
evening in a dormitory of the University of Chicago. The verse ran 

Look down, look down, dat lonesome road, 

Hang down yo* haid and sigh, 

You cause me to weep, you cause me to moan, 

You cause me to leave mah home. 

You cause me to leave mah home. 

Webb sang it in imitation of an old nogro woman he had heard as a boy. The glides and twists, 
the snarls and moans, cannot be compassed in musical notation; the devices for measuring 
sound and indicating pitch are not yet available for writing scores for the more subtle negro vocal 
performances. The white man, or the mulatto, takes such pieces and shades them to his own 
ways and likings. We have Lonesome Road here as it came to Pendleton, Indiana, to people who 
passed it on to Lloyd Lewis. . . . "Your" is "yo\" "God" is "Gawd." The "r" is silent in 
"'fore" and "heard." "Head** is "haid." ... It goes lugubriously, interthreaded with a 
snarl. As a theme it is slow, grave, "moanish." 

Arr. R. C. 



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: down, look down that lorie-sorne road, Hang down your head an 






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best of friends must part some day, An' why not you an* 1, An* 



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LONESOME ROAD 




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why not you an* I. 



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1 Look down, look down that lonesome road, 
Hang down your head an' sigh; 
The best of friends must part some day, 
An' why not you an* I, 
An* why not you an* I? 



I wish to God that I had died, 
Had died 'fore I was born, 
Before I seen your smilin' face 
An' heard your lyin' tongue, 
An* heard your lyin' tongue. 



FOND AFFECTION 



Sometimes it happens that lovely people write verses, lyrics, witli inadequate melodies. The 
Kentucky mountain song, "Fond Affection," has a tune hardly worth record here but it does 
have these striking stanzas. 



1 The world's so wide I cannot cross it, 
The sea's so deep I cannot wade, 
I'll just go hire me a little boatman, 
To row me across the stormy tide. 



I give you back your ring and letters, 
And the picture I have loved so well, 
Arid henceforth we will meet as strangers, 
But I can never say farewell. 



3 There's only three things that I could wish for, 
That is my coffin, shroud, and grave, 
And when I'm dead please don't weep o'er me, 
Or kiss the lips you once betrayed. 



8*3 



GO BRING ME BACK MY BLUE-EYED BOY 

Here too is a " sad-like " tune. . . . And the words match the tune. . . . The seventh 
verse is an addition by someone wanting a dash of horse sense to finish off the fatal childish romance. 
. . . Text A and the tune are from Frances Ries, and text B, London City, from R. W. Gordon. 




3 







3=2 



jM- 



Go bring me back my blue-eyed boy; Go bring my dar - ling back to 



me, Go bring me back the one I love, And hap - py will I ev - er be. 



1 



(io bring me back my blue-eyed boy, 
Go bring my darling back to me, 
Go bring me back the one I love, 
And happy will I ever be. 

2 Must I go bound while he goes free? 
Must I love a man that don't love me? 
Or must I act some childish part, 
And die for the one that broke rny heart? 

13 Late one night when her father came home, 
Inquiring where his daughter had gone, 
He went upstairs and the lock he broke, 
And found her hanging by a rope. 



4 He drew his knife and he cut her down, 
He drew his knife and he cut her down, 
He drew his knife and he cut her down, 
Upon her breast these words he found. 

5 Go dig my grave, go dig it deep, 
Go dig my grave, go dig it deep, 
Go dig my grave, go dig it deep, 

And plant a rose at iny head and feet. 

6 Upon my breast a turtle dove, 
Upon my breast a turtle dove, 
Upon my breast a turtle dove, 
To show this world I died for love. 



7 Around my grave go build a fence, 
Around my grave go build a fence, 
Around my grave go build a fence, 
To show this world I had no sense. 

B 
LONDON CITY 



1 London City where I used to dwell, 
It's a railroad boy I loved so well, 
He courted mo my heart away, 
And with me he would not stay. 

8 Go out this fair little town; 

Take him a chair and sit right down, 
Take other strange girls upon his knee, 
And tell them things he won't tell me. 

8 I don't sec the reason why 

Unless they had more golden eyes. 

Gold will melt, silver will fly, 

I hope some day they will become as I. 



4 She went off upstairs to fix her bed 
Not a word to her mamma she said. 
Mamma went off upstairs saying 
Daughter dear, what is troubling you? 

5 Oh, Mamma, Oh, Mamma, I dare to tell 
It's the railroad boy I love so well, 

He courted me my heart away 
And with me would not stay. 
Her papa came in from his work 
Saying where is my daughter so dear, 
Off upstairs he did go 
And there found her hanging by a rope. 

7 Upon her breast was a letter found 

Saying, when you find me cut me down 

Go dig my grave both wide and deep 

And place a marble stone at my head and feet. 

Upon my breast place a turtle dove, 

To show this world I died for love. 

324 



THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN 



Railroad trains hurtling with smoke, fire, and thunder across peaceful landscapes at night, 
rushing remorseless as fate along the iron rail pathways, holding to a fixed timetable and repeating 
the performance every midnight or early morning "fo* day*' out of this the negro worker has 
made a song that pounds home with the beats and accents of a Limited Express. The grind of 
flanges, steel burnishing steel hi a tireless syncopation, is here, in melody and overtone. . . . 
All night long the trains weave; every night they repeat the weave; civilization hangs on the time 
table. The "same train" runs, and always "all night long." ... A smokestack with a 
maroon plume of sparks, a firebox square of crimson, the onruslung monotone of a strong, long- 
drawn locomotive whistle thus the tempo. ... In Montevallo at the State Teachers College 
of Alabama they sing it; and there are variants at the University of Georgia, and at the State 
Teachers College at Hattiesburg, Mississippi. . . . Additional verses may have the "same 
train" carrying "sister," "brother," and so on. 



mf Allegro moderate 



Arr. A. G. W. 



J- -J'jgJ? 



ffifc 



The mid-night train and the fo' day train Run all night . 



long. The mid-night train and the 




^p 



fo' day train Run all night long, They run .... un-til the break of day. 




^ 

1 The midnight train and the fo' day train % Twas the same train carried yo' mother 'way 
Run all night long. _ Run all night long. 

\ the same train carried yo' mother 'way 

Run all night long, 
un until the break of day. 



idnight train and the fo' day train 

Run all night long. 

idnight train and the fo' day train 'Twas the same t 



The midnight train 



e mngt tran an te o ay 

Run all night long, 
They run until the break of day. 



825 



I DON'T LIKE NO RAILROAD MAN 



This arrangement is based on the song given by Mary Leaphart, whose husband is the head of 
the department of law at the University of Montana. Mrs. Leaphart is Kentucky born and spent 
years among the mountain people who sing this; her performance of it is an impersonation; she 
identifies herself with a character. It is to be sung staccato, nasal, abrupt, with contempt, yet with 
nice control as though railroads come and railroads go but the mountains and us, the mountaineers, 
live on. We can almost see the mountaineers sitting in their cabin doorways watching the railroad 
gangs come up the valley; they scorn the boasted oncoming civilization. 

AIT. H. P. 

-3 H -\ 



^ ^ 



don't like no rail - road man, 



Rail - road man he'll 



{ 


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kill you if he can, I 


don't like no rail - road man. 

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1 I don't like no railroad man, 
Railroad man he'll kill you if he can, 
I don't like no railroad man. 

2 I don't like no railroad boss, 
Railroad boss got a head like a boss, 
I don't like no railroad boss. 

3 I don't like no railroad fool, 
Railroad fool got a head like a mule, 
I don't like no railroad fool. 



PICNIC AND HAYRACK FOLLIES, CLOSE HARMONY, AND 

DARN FOOL DITTIES 



SUCKING CIDER THROUGH A STRAW .... 
DID YOU EVER, EVER, EVER? 


HARMONIZATION BY 

Henry Francis Parks . 


PAGF3 
. 329 

329 


I WAS BORN ALMOST TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO . 
GO GET THE AX 
ABA LONE .......... 


Marion Lychenheim 
Hazel Fehnan 
Henry Francis Parks 


380 
. 33* 
333 


IN DE VINTER TIME 
CIGARETTES WILL SPOIL YER LIFE .... 
MARY HAD A WILLIAM GOAT 


. Alfred 0. Watttall . . 
Henry Joxlyn 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 334 
. 335 
330 


I WISH I WAS A LITTLE BIRD 
OLD ADAM 
THE HORSE NAMED BILL 
CRAZY SONG TO THE AIR OF **D1XIK" 


Hazel Felman 
Marion Lychenheim 
. Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 338 
. 331) 
. 340 
. 342 


A BOY HE HAD AN AUGER 
ABDUL, THE BULBUL AMEER 
GREENS . . ..... 


. Alfred 0. Wathall . . 
. Alfred G. Wathall . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 343 
. 344 
. 347 


ANIMAL FAIR 
CALLIOPE .......... 


Marwn Lychenheim 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 348 
. 340 


SI HUBBARD 


. Alfred G. Wathall . . 


. 350 



9*7 







Si8 



SUCKING CIDER THROUGH A STRAW 



H. Luke Stancil heard this from old men, his neighbors, in the mountains of Pickens County t 
Georgia. And Jess Ricks of Long Island heard it in Taylorville, Illinois, as a boy. 11. W. Gordon 
surmises it may be early minstrel. . . . The syllable "ci" in "cider" is drawn out as if to 
indicate a prolonged sip. 



Drawlinyly 



Arr. H. F. P. 



Was sucking ci - der Thro* a straw 




1 The prettiest girl 
That ever I saw, 
Was sucking cider 
Through a straw. 



I told that gal 
I didn't sec how 
She sucked the cider 
Through a straw. 



4 And all at once 
That straw did slip; 
I sucked some rider 
From her lip. 



8 And cheek by cheek 
And jaw by jaw, 
We sucked that cider 
Through that straw. 



5 And now I've got 
Me a mother-in-law 
From sucking cider 
Through a straw. 



DID YOU EVER, EVER, EVER? 

A children's game rhyme, for counting out and finding who's going to be "It," is said to be 
as old as "eeny meeny miny mo" or "monkey, monkey, bottle of beer, how many monkeys are 
there here?" 

Did you ever, ever, ever, 
In your leaf, life, loaf, 
See the deevel, divil, dovol, 
Kiss his weef, wife, woaf ? 
No, I never, never, never, 
In my leaf, life, loaf, 
Saw the deevel, divil, dovol, 
Kiss his weef, wife, woaf. 

8S9 



I WAS BORN ALMOST TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO 

Folk lore tells of giants and long-lived men. On far travels they saw and heard much. . . . 
Also hoary legends have dealt with the Champion Liar. . . . We have in this instance a vest 
pocket encyclopedia, an outline of history with numerous references to picturesque personages. 
. . . It packs a wicked lot of biography. 



nU 






Arr. M. 


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I was horn al - most ten thou* - and years 

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nolh-ing in the world that I don't know; I saw Pe-ter, Paul and Mo-ses, Play-ing 




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ring - a - round the ros - es, And I'm here to lick the guy what says 'taint so. 




pip 



F lj:r Ul 



sse 



I WAS BORN ALMOST TKX THOIS \NI> YKARS AGO 



1 I was bom almost ten thousand years ago, 
And there's nothing in the world that I don't 

know; 

I saw Peter, Paid and Moses, 
Playing ring-around-the-roses 
And I'm here to lick the guy what says 'taint so. 

I saw Satan when he looked the garden o'er, 
Saw Adam and Eve driven from the door, 
And behind the bushes peeping, 
Saw the apple they were eating, 
And I'll swear that I'm the guy what ate the core. 

3 I saw Jonah when he embarked within the whale, 
And thought he'd never live to tell the tale. 
But old Jonah had eaten garlic 
And he gave the whale a colic, 
So he coughed up and let him out o' jail. 



4 I saw Samson when he laid the village eold, 
Saw Daniel tame the lions in the hold. 
And helped build the Tower of Babel, 

Up as high as they were able, 

And there's lots of other things 1 haven't told. 

5 I taught Solomon his little A-B-C's, 

I helped Brigham Young to make Limburger 
cheese, 

And while sailing down the bay 

With Methusaleh one day, 

I saved his flowing whiskers from the bree/e 

6 Queen Elizabeth she fell in love with me 
We were married in Milwaukee secretly, 
But I schemed around and shook her, 
And I went with General Hooker 

To shoot mosquitoes down in Tennessee. 



7 I remember when the country had a king, 
I saw Cleopatra pawn her wedding ring, 
And I saw the flags a-flying 
When George Washington stopixnl lying, 
On the night when Patti first began to sing. 




831 



GO GET THE AX 

A bob-haired blond girl with a dirty face stood on a downtown street corner in Chicago singing 
this song; she wore green goggles and held out a tin cup to passers-by; she was being initiated. 
. . . We have heard the piece sung and giggled. ... As to gigglers we quote Cherubini, 
"The only thing worse than one flute is two flutes." 

Arr. H. F. 



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Peep-in' through the knot-hole Of grand-pa's wood-en leg, 


\\Tio'll wind the 


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clock when I am gone? 



Go get the ax, There's 




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flea in Lizzie's ear, For a boy's best friend is his moth-er. 




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m 



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1 Peepin' through the knot-hole 

Of grandpa*s wooden leg. 
Who'll wind the clock when I am gone? 

Go get the ax 
There's a flea in Lizzie's car, 

For a boy's best friend is his mother. 

2 Peepin' through the knot-hole 

Of grandpa's wooden leg, 
Why do they build the shore so near the ocean? 

Who cut the sleeves 
Out of dear old daddy's vest, 

And dug up Fido's bones to build the sewer? 



3 A horsey stood around, 

With his feet upon the ground, 
Oh, who will wind the clock when I am gone? 

Go get the ax, 
There's a fly on Lizzie's ear, 

But a boy's best friend is his mother. 

4 I fell from a window, 

A second-story window, 
I caught my eyebrow on the window-sill. 

The cellar is behind the door, 
Mary's room is behind the ax, 

But a boy's best friend is his mother. 



332 



ABALONE 



Monterey is a California town of Spanish streets lined with houses of a time when Proud Spain 
ruled the West Coast. Tourist cars run to the House Where Rol>ert Louis Stevenson Lived. In 
the harbor one may see Italian fishermen mending nets, putting out to sea, coming home with toll 
taken from deep waters. And roundabout the pyramids of aba lone shells are stacked high. It is 
a world capital of abalone. At the lunch counters nbalone is a favorite dish, a nutritious mollusk. 
His shell makes shirt buttons by the carload. . . . From Monterey we go to Carmel-By-The- 
Sea, past cypress trees, tough twisted torsoes lashed by long winds, shajx^s of storm transfixed with 
a momentary peace, a picture for pilgrims. . . Then at Carmcl we may hear Al>alone Song, 
its stanzas chiefly a bequest of George Sterling of San Francisco. . . . Beach fire singers have 
flung it with laughter at goblins of the half moon, the rising full moon, and the waning silver crescent. 

Arr. II. F. P. 















In Car - mel Bay the peo - pie say we feed the laz - za - ro - ni . . . . 



On 



:f 










car - a - mels and cock - le - shells and hunks of Ab - a - lo - nc. 

I I "IV. I S I N 



fe^==^r^fe^^^r^^J^^^^Efejrr=a 
gJS^^=^^^l^d=^==^F=:|^=fl 




1 In Carmel Bay the people say, 
We feed the Lazzaroni 

On caramels, and cockle-shells 
And hunks of abalone. 

2 O, some folks boast of quail on toast, 
Because they think it's tony; 

But my tom-cat gets nice and fat 
On hunks of abalone. 

8 He hides in caves, beneath the waves, 
His ancient patrimony: 
Race suicide will ne'er betide 
The fertile abalone. 



4 I telegraph my better half 
By Morse or by Marconi 

But when in need of greater speed 
I send an abalone. 

5 Some folks say that pain is real 
And some say that it's phoney; 
But as for me, when I can't agree, 
I cat an abalone. 

6 Our naval hero, best of all, 
His name was Pauley Joney; 

He sailed the seas as he darn pleased, 
But he never ate abalone. 



333 



IN DE VINTER TIME 



This is sung by superincumbent cucumbers in Iowa and elsewhere. We have it from students 
and faculty members of Cornell College. The tempo is mazurka and came with Polish and Czeko- 
Slovak emigration to the Corn Belt. 



Lively. Tempo di mazurka 



Arr. A. G. W. 



teg 



fe|z.-JL^ 



3 



SE 



3: 



In dc vin - ter, in de vin - tor -time, Vcn de vin' blows on de 







^ . j_ .. ~- & 3 ^ ^ J 



vin - dow - pane, An' dc vim - men, in de vaud - *vil, Ride de ve - 




ritard. = 



I 






" T~^ 

loc' - pede in de ves - ti - bulc, Ah, vim - mens! Ah, mens! 




ritard. 



3E^ 



a fcmpo 



1 



?=F 



In de vinter, in de vinter-time, 
Ven de vin' blows on dc vindpw-pane. 
An' de vimnien, in de vaud'vil 
Ride de velocipede in de vestibule, 
All, vimmens! Ah, mens! 



CIGARETTES WILL SPOIL YER LIFE 



Two newspapermen, working for the Boston Post, took a poor poet around the town in a motor 
car, showing him Faneuil Hall, Bunker Hill, Charlestown Jail, Harvard University. They made 
inquiries, the poet gave guarded replies, but was twice caught napping. They wrote notes for an 
interview. Then they fed the poet and sang this modern Boston ditty. 



Fairly fast, in tone of warning 



= 



3 



fat: H. J. 



3 



Cig - a - rettes will spoil yer life, 



Ruin yer health and 



i 



^^f- 






r- 



slowly 



CD * 


m 




2* ^ 


"--] r : -"" 


E 1 


; p p 4 r "i ,: 


:-;,-] -*:rii 








9 


y m 




l ' ' i j 


11 


t) 












m m 9 ~<S-^ 


-J- 


ki 


11 ye 


r 


ba - by. 


Poor lit - tl 


o 


in - no - cent child. . . . 








f= 








h ^ , t JH 


4 


eh p u * 


01 


' 




__J J 




in^ 2 


^11 




i 






r 



? 



Cigarettes will spoil yer life, 
Ruin yer health and kill yer baby, 
Poor little innocent child. 



335 



MARY HAD A WILLIAM GOAT 



We have heard of a man who bet he could eat two dozen raw oysters. Before putting up the 
money he excused himself, left the room, came back and won the bet. "But why did you leave 
the room?" he was asked. He replied, "I went out and ate two dozen raw oysters to make sure I 
could do it." Then they all joined hands and sang a tune that used to have words about Mary 
and her little lamb. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Font 




. 



Ma - ry had a Will-iam goat, Will-iam goat, Will-iam goat, Ma-ry had a Will-iam goat, his 





jtUdTJC 



stotn-ach lined with zinc. One day he ate an oys-tcrcan, oys-ter can, oys-tcr can, One 





day he ate an oyster can, and a clothesline full of shirts. Oh, the shirts can do no harm inside, 




336 



MARY HAD A WILLIAM GOAT 




ritard 



J J 1 



m m- 



harm in-side, harm in-side, Shirts can do no harm in - side, but the oys-ter can. 




Mary had a William goat, William goat, William goat, 
Mary had a William goat, his stomach lined with zinc. 
One day he ate an oyster can, oyster can, oyster can, 
One day he ate an oyster can, and a clothesline full of shirts. 
Oh, th." shirts can do no harm inside, harm inside, harm inside, 
Shirts can do no harm inside, but the oyster can. 




337 



I WISH I WAS A LITTLE BIRD 



Suppose a bashful girl and a backward young man are lonesome at a party or picnic. Can 
they do better than to sing this just to see how it goes as a duet? . . . The spoken line can be 
varied to " But I don't see how you expect me to stay here deserted, forlorn, isolated, eating my 
heart out, all by myself." ... A Hudson river steamboat deck favorite on moonlight nights. 
. . . Text and tune from Magda Brooks of New Paltz, New York. 

AIT. H. F. 




I wish I was a lit - tic bird, 



I'd fly up in a tree. 




3? 



^ii 



? 



s= 



(Spoken) 




sit and sing my sad lit -tie song, But I can't stay here by my - self! 









1 I wish I was a little bird, 
I'd fly up in a tree. 
I'd sit and sing my sad little song, 
But 

I 

can't 

stay 

here 

by 



myself! 
338 



2 I wish I was a little fish, 
I'd swim way down in the sea. 
I'd sit and sing my sad little song, 
But 

I 

can't 

stay 

here 

by 



myself! 



OLD ADAM 



Sympathy for The First Man is here. . . . College girls sing it. 
from the State Teachers College at Harrisonburg. Virginia. 



. . Text and tune are 



Arr. M. L. 



i*E 



^ 



I'm so sor - ry for old Ad - am, Just as sor - ry as can 







jJ 



m 



===&= 






be; For he ncv-or liad no Mum - my For to hold him on her knee. 




1 I*m so sorry for old Adam, 

Just as sorry as can be; 
For he never had no mammy 
For to hold him on her knee. 



2 For he never had no childhood, 
Playin* round the cabin door, 
And he never had no daddy 
For to tell him all he know. 



S And I've always had the feelin* 

He'd a let that apple be, 
If he'd only had a mammy 
For to hold him on her knee. 

339 



THE HORSE NAMED BILL 



The tempo for this song is indicated as "with lucid intervals if possible." It is a highbrow folk 
song disbursed in many places where the higher learning is sought. The text is from Bed Lewis 
of Sauk Center, Minnesota, who got the last verse from George Sterling of San Francisco, and one 
or two other verses from an Englishman in Italy returning from a cruise to Bombay. On the 
same boat was a rah-rah boy from Walla Walla, Washington, who asked the Englishman, "What 
IB a caterpillar?" and answering his own riddle, said, "A caterpillar is a worm in a raccoon coat 
going for a college education." Also he told the Englishman, " Walla Walla is named twice for the 
sake of those who didn't hear the first time." 

Arr. A. G. W. 




J J f * 



V 

Oh, I had a horse and his name was Bill, And when he ran he couldn't stand still, He ran a- 




way 



one 



And al - so I ran with him. 




1 Oh, I had a horse and his name was Bill. 
And when he ran he couldn't stand still. 
He ran away one day 
And also I ran with him. 

% He ran so fast he could not stop. 
He ran into a barber shop, 
And fell exhaustionized with his eyeteeth- 
In the barber's left shoulder. 

S40 



THE HORSE NAMED BILL 

3 I had a gal and her name was Daisy 
And when she sang the cat went crazy 
With deliriums St. Vituses 

And all kinds of cataleptics. 

4 One day she sang a song about 

A man who turned himself inside out 
And jumped into the river 
He was so very sleepy. 

5 I'm going out in the woods next year 
And shoot for beer and not for deer 
I am I ain't 

I'm a great sharpshootress. 

6 At shooting birds I am a beaut. 
There is no bird I cannot shoot 

In the eye, in the ear, in the teeth, 
In the fm(g)ers. 

7 Oh, I went up in a balloon so big, 

The people on the earth they looked like a pig, 
Like a mice like a katydid like flieses 
And like fleasens. 

8 The balloon turned up with its bottom side higher. 
It fell on the wife of a country squire. 

She made a noise like a dog hound, like a steam whistle, 
And also like dynamite. 

9 Oh, what could you do in a case like that? 
Oh, what could you do but stamp on your hat, 
And your toothbrush and everything 
That's helpless. 




341 



CRAZY SONG TO THE AIR OF "DIXIE" 

We present here lines written by Andy Lee, a pen name of W. W. Delaney, as published in 
the Delaney Song Book No. 33. Our guess may be that his "Crazy Song to the Air of 'Dixie'" 
was the beginning of the highbrow folk song |>erpetrated and perpetuated by Sinclair Lewis, George 
Sterling and others. The text of it in full is here, so that each individual singer can figure it out for 
himself. Some of the logic is on the order of that of the member of Congress who expostulated, 
"Mr. Sfieaker, I smell a rat. I see him floating in the air. But I will nip him in the bud." Nor 
is it in tone above or below that of the orator addressing the House of Commons regarding certain 
thieves in high places, saying, "Sir, put these men on an uninhabited island and they would not 
be there an hour before they would have their hands in the pockets of the naked savages." . . . 
With but slight practice any of the verses will go to the tune of Dixie. And they are nearly as silly 
if read instead of sung. 

1 Way down South in the land of cotton, 

I wrote this song and wrote it rotten; 

I did, I didn't you don't believe me, 

The reason why I cannot sing, 

I have no chestnuts for to spring, 

O, rue! Did we? She don't. Why does she? 

I just corne back from Mobile, I did, I didn't! 

I just come back from Mobile, 

And I don't care to go anywhere 

I do, I don't. Oli, Lizzie sells the peanuts. 

I used to live down on a farm, 

And one bright night, when the day was warm, 

I swiped some; choose from oil' the table, 

Tlic farmer chased me, but the night was damp, 

And the farmer got such an awful cramp 

In his necktie, in his feet, in his eye, oh, Ileinie! 
. I just eome bark from Cuba! Hurrah! llurree! 

I just come back from Cuba, 

And I don't know which way to go 

I do, I don't, I go out bicycle walking. 
8 I like to sit down by the brook, 

Take a fishing line and hook, 

And fish for clams, for worms and sausages; 

And when I see a sign so near 

That says: "No fishing go\s on here." 

I hunt for fleas, for flies and lobsters, 

I am an Irish hunter, I am, I ain't, 

I am an Irish hunter; 

I hunt for beer, but not for deer, 

I do, 1 don't. Now can you know the difference? 

4 I once went up in a big balloon 

To get some cheese from off the moon; 

But the moon was full and I was fuller. 

I don't forget I took a drop, 

I fell kerflop in a barber shop, 

And got a shave a shampoo that's all. 

I'd like to see you after the show I will I won't. 

I'd like to know which way to go; 

For I can't know the wrong direction 

I do. I don't. She was bred in old Kentucky 

3*2 



A BOY HE HAD AN AUGER 



An old English song is revamped in American colleges. Spoken final lines are improvised, as 
follows, "The Q is silent as in electricity," or "The bee is not mentioned as iu bumble or honey," 
and so on. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Allegretto grazioso 












A boy, he had an au 



ger, It bored two holes at once; 








boy, he had an au - ger, It bored two holes at once ; And some were eat - ing 




^ Spoken 



pop - corn, And some were cat-ing pick-les. 



(And the G is si -lent as in "lush.") 






s 



A boy, he had an auger, 
It bored two holes at once; 
A boy, he had an auger, 
It bored two holes at once; 
And some were eating pop-corn, 
And some were eating pickles 
Spoken (And the G is silent as in "Fish.") 

843 



ABDUL, THE BULBUL AMEER 



When the Ahkoond of Swat passed away after a lingering illness, his last words were a message 
of felicitation to Abdul the Bulbul Ameer, his kinsman and host, that the reign and sway of that 
potentate might be long, illustrious, and filled with deeds of distinguished valor. This wish would 
have come tnie, in all likelihood, but for the sudden and dramatic entrance on the scene of Ivan 
Petruski Skivah, whose knife proved superior to the chibouque in the culmination of the violent 
conflict, the finish contest, or knockdown and dragout affair, as one might say, which ensued between 
these two bitter opponents in classical language and diplomatic procedure. ... Of the victor's 
Muscovite morganatic bride, little is known .save the fact that while prone on her couch and fast 
in the arms of Morpheus she was heard frequently to pronounce the words "Ivan Petruski Skivah." 
. . . The song in which is enshrined this legend of two embittered opponents, is a familiar of 
robustuous arid grandiloquent men in both metropolitan centers of urban activity and in wilderness 
outposts of the Northwest Mounted, so to speak; it is vocalized con amore equally well in tuxedo 
vest, flannel shirt or duck canvas pants. . . . As a serial tale it creates a climax which is hoist 
by its own petard . . . The plot gets thicker and thicker till it runs out of gas, discombobu- 
lates, and Iwves two stuffed shirts in the wind. 



AIT. A. G. W. 




Con rwo/0 



The sons of the Proph-et are hard - y and bold, And 




tnrcdto 



quite un - ac - cus - tomed to fear; But of all, the most reck -less of 




344 



ABDUL, THE BULDUL AMEER 



i 



life or of limb, Was Ab - dul, the Bul - bul A - meer. 



When they 




m 



m 






want - ed a man to en - cour-age the van, Or to shout *'IIul- la - loo!" in the 




-1 1- 



^ 



rear, 



Or to storm a re - doubt, they straight-way sent out For 

^ 





- 






dbE 
E^= 



^^~3i=3e^===!* 
"=- 1- * * + *- 



Ab-dul, the Bul -bul A - meer For Ab - dul, the Bul -bul A - meer. 




t 



1 1 . .^ fruq y jp^j^__i ^ ;^^>q __ 



345 



ABDUL, THE BULBUL AMEER 

1 The sons of the Prophet are hardy and bold, 

And quite unaccustomed to fear; 
But of all, the most reckless of life or of limb, 

Was Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer. 
When they wanted a man to encourage the van, 

Or to shout "Hull-a-loo!" in the rear, 
Or to storm a redoubt, they straightway sent out 

For Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer, 

For Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer. 

2 There are heroes in plenty and well-known to fame 

In the ranks that are led by the Czar; 
But among the most reckless of name or of fame 

Was Ivan Petruski Shivah. 
He could imitate Irving, play euchre or pool, 

And perform on the Spanish guitar; 
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team, 

Was Ivan Pet rusk i Skivah. 

8 One morning the Russian had shouldered his gun 

And put on his most cynical sneer, 
When, going down town, he happened to run 

Into Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer. 
Said the Bulbul, "Young man, is your life then so dull, 

That you're anxious to end your career? 
For, infidel, know that you've trod on the toe 

Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer. 

4 Said the Russian, "My friend, your remarks in the end 

Will only prove futile, I fear; 
For I mean to imply that you're going to die, 

Mr. Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer." 
The Bulbul then drew out his trusty chibouque, 

And, shouting out "Allah Aklar," 
Being also intent upon slaughter he went 

For Ivan Petruski Skivah. 

5 When, just as the knife was ending his life 

In fact, he had shouted "Huzza!" 
He found himself struck by that subtle Calmuck, 

Bold Ivan Petruski Skivah. 
There's a grave where the wave of the blue Danube flows, 

And on it, engraven so clear, 
Is, " Stranger, remember to pray for the soul 

Of Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer." 

6 Where the Muscovite maiden her vigil doth keep 

By the light of the true lover's star, 
The name she so tenderly murmurs in sleep 

Is" Ivan Petruski Skivah." 
The sons of the Prophet are hardy and bold; 

And quite unaccustomed to fear; 
But of all, the most reckless of life or of limb, 

Was Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer. 

846 



GREENS 



"What is close harmony?" was asked a glee club boy with fair Yale locks. He vouchsafed 
reply, "Close harmony is so called because the singers stand close to each other and watch each 
other closely." . . . Explaining why its music was not written in four parts, editors of the 
book of Columbia University Songs declared, "The musical contortionists will get in their fine work 
anyhow, and can always be relied on to contribute their improvisations regardless of the arrange- 
ment." . . . The following quartet, octette or double octette affair, is a "mellow" (negro for 
melody) from Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas air and words as sung by Loia 
Magnusou. 



Moderate 



Arr. A. G. W. 




Greens, greens, good old cul - lulled greens, I eats 'em in the moh-nin', I 

^ 





eats 'em in the night, I eats 'em all the time; They makes me feel just right. 




Greens, greens, good old culluhed greens, 

I eats 'em in the mohnin', 

I eats 'em in the night, 

I eats 'em all the time; 

They makes me feel just right. 

847 



ANIMAL FAIR 



"All the old minstrels, Dan Rice, Dan Ernmett, and all of them, sang it," said Delaney about 
Animal Fair. . . . "The monk, the monk, the monk," may be repeated till out of breath. 

Air. M. L. 



3 



I went to the an - i - mai fair, The birds and beasts were there. The 



r~H== 



-3-3- 



^ 








big ba-boon by the light of the moon Was comb -ing his au - burn hair. The 




^- 



4J J-^-J- 



^ 



mon - key he got drunk 



And sat on the el - e - phant's trunk, The 

-^ i l ^P 




348 



ANIMAL FAIR 







i M rrr- 

i i . > * 



g g r 



el - e-phant sneezed and fell on his knees And what be-came of the monk, the monk? 




P* 



m 



I went to the animal fair, 

The birds and beasts were there. 

The big baboon by the light of the moon 

Was combing his auburn hair. 

CALLIOPE 



The monkey he got drunk 

And sat on the elephant's trunk, 

The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees 

And what became of the monk, the monk? 



This is customarily rendered as a stunt without words, as indicated, in falsetto, soprano reg- 
ister, and in imitation of that mammoth, invincible, crowning feature of the three-ring circus, the 
last wagon in the parade, the steam "kallyope." Some quartets prefer singing it straight with 
words, This House Is Haunted. It was widely known across the Corn Belt in the 1890's. The 
version here is from Knox County, Illinois. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

(Soprano 




This house is haunt - ed, 

/ 



this house is haunt -cd, It fair-ly makes my blood 



run 



* 



m 



mf scmpre 





co-o-old; This house is haunted, this house is haunted, It fair-ly makes my blood run co-o-old. 





lE::* 



5^=E^ 



**F= 

V * 



This house is haunted, this house is haunted, 
It fairly makes my blood run co-o-old; 
This house is haunted, this house is haunted, 
It fairly makes my blood run co-o-old. 

349 



SI HUBBARD 



Circus barkers made up as "hayseeds" sang and recited this piece in the 'Eighties. It was 
published in the early 'Seventies with the title Hey Rube. Three boys in Pittsfield, Illinois, asked 
a barker to teach them the words. He refused. The boys took turns listening, wrote down the 
words, joined the three parts and thus had the whole song. One of the boys grew up, became a 
Peoria lawyer, then a Chicago lawyer, and now on cold winter nights when there is no circus to 
go to, he sings it for his own boy. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

,. Allegretto giocoto $: 



I J J I 

^ 



It wuz one day, I be- 



_-,-_- sjf^tacc. -^ j * 

J .X ^ 7~ -_ -_- ^1 J 





J J -T 

*- -^ - 



1 I -ifr^frT 



nj q -j_^_^ JL ^. ^ 

^ __. p^4_-__4Z j^ |^ j ^ 



licve in May, When old Si Hub-bard to me did say, "Bar -mini's cir-cus has 



W 



^ 



poco f 




e 



: 



-* 
FINE 



D.S. 






come to town, Let's you an* I go see the clowns." 

~ =r.tp=4=i 




n* 




i 



poco f 






mf D.S. 



& r f =p 



rfe: 




SI HUBBAHO 

It wuz one day, I believe in May, when old Si Hubbard to me did say, 
"Barnum's circus has come to town, let's you an* I go see the clowns." 

So we sold our barley, oats an* corn; in fact, we most cleaned out the barn; 
Then went an* bought two bran' new suits, with white plug hats an* red top-boots. 

An* when that circus got around, we two wuz the fust ones on the ground. 
Sez Si to me, "Let's go get tight, pull down the tent an' have a fight." 

"Not much," scz I, "I'll raise no feud," for you sec I wuz skccrcd of the old 'Ilcye Rube!* 
So I proposed some red lemonade an' goober peas for which 1 paid. 

'Twuz a jolly good cuss who kept the store, so we thought when he asked us to have some more. 
Sez he, "I like you boys fust rate, so don't stand back; I'll stand the treat." 

So Si an' I jist pitched right in, an' the way we ate an' drank wuz a sin; 
But when we turned to go away we heard that gosh-durncd sharper say: 

"Four dollars, quick! you Rubes! Don't wait, or else to the side-show you'll be late." 

50 I paid the cash like a durn fool cuss, an' of? to the side-show we did rush. 

When we got inside what sights we seen wuz enough to turn our whiskers green. 

There wuz a tattooed man all covered with ink, an' a dog-faced boy called the 'missing link.' 

But the sight that fairly made us shake wuz a great big sleepy-lookin' snake. 

51 pulled his jack-knife out right quick an* up to the cage he then did slip, 

An* he stabbed that snake an' jumped away, but I laughed for the critter wuz stuffed with hay. 
Now a parrot in a cage close by soon caught the gaze of foolish Si; 

Si didn't know this bird could talk an' when it called him a country gawk 
He got right mad an* jist for spite, he knocked that bird clean out of sight. 

But a monkey who wuz in the cage, at Si's conduct got in a rage, 

An' to show his love for his feathered friend, a helping hand he allowed to lend. 

50 he grabbed poor Si by his red goatee an' it made the whole crowd laugh to see 

51 tug an' pull to get away, but the pesky monkey had come to stay. 

An' he pulled Si's whiskers so all-fired hard that his chin wuz as long as the neck of a gourd; 
All at once I seed Si smile an' grin an' I knew his troubles wuz at an end. 

An* sure enough, with his knife so keen, he'd cut them whiskers off close to his chin. 
When I seed that face with the goatee off, I coughed an' laughed an' laughed an* coughed. 

An* two girls fainted at the terrible sight, an* the rest of the crowd nil took to flight; 

Then the showmen threw us out in a hurry an' the gosh-durned band played "Annie Laurie." 

Sez I: "What's the next thing on the docket?" for we both had money in our pocket. 
As if in answer to my question, we both looked in the one direction, 

An* there, before our very eyes, wuz a big balloon of enormous size. 

An' a man in the basket in skin-tight clothes sez, "Cut the rope an' let her go." 

Sez Si to me, "I'll spoil his racket," an* he grabbed a rope that wuz hitched to the basket, 

An' he tried to hold the balloon to the ground, but the balloon wuz the strongest, so Si soon found. 

351 



81 HUBBARD 

An* to the horror of the lookers-on, up went poor Si tied to the balloon. 

When I seed Si goin' I rushed to his aid, an* a sudden dash for the rope I made, 

But my feet got tangled in the coil, an' I, like Si, left native soil. 

Then up in the air like a rocket we shot, an f I called to the man in the balloon to stop; 

But he only smiled into my face, an* asked me how I liked my place. 

"Not much," sez I, "you skinny dude." "Then call me down," sez he, "you rube." 

Sez I to Si, "Take out your knife an' cut the rope an' save our lives." 
An* Si in his pocket his hand did slip, to get his knife, but he lost his grip, 

An* he lit right square upon my face an' then we both fell into space. 

"Look out! We're comin'," I cried out loud; "Oh, we don't care." came back from the crowd. 

But instead of alighting on the spot I meant, we came smack down on the animal tent; 
When we lit the tent began to tear, an' to save my life I grabbed Si's hair; 

But his hair broke off an* down I went with Si on top, inside the tent. 

An* we lit so hard on a candy-shop that the whole durned band in the circus stopped. 

An' then the folks came running out to see what the racket wuz all about; 
An* one of the troupers wanted to know if we had paid to get into the show. 

"Why, no,** sex I, "We just dropped in to try an* hear a circus ring." 

He up with a club an* he hit me a crack which nearly broke my pesky back. 

This made me mad an' up I rose an' I hit him square upon the nose. 

He cried, "Hey Rube!" an' to my surprise, Hey Rubes came nrunning thick as flies. 

An' they grabbed us both an* tore our clothes, an' said they'd teach us to steal in shows. 
"We didn't steal in," sez I to the crowd. "Why, no,*' sez Si, "We dropped from the clouds." 

But a constable who had a badge on, an* like a dog's tail he kept a wagon, 
Told Si an' I to get inside an' with him take a little rule. 

When at the calaboose he stopped, he showed us in an' the door he locked, 
An* said for being two big Jays, he*d have to give us sixty days 

But once wuz enough for us, once wuz enough for us, we'll never go to another show, 
For once wuz enough for us. 




35* 



RAILROAD AND WORK GANGS 



BOLSUM BROWN 
POOR PADDY WORKS ON THE RAILWAY .... 


HARMONIZATION BT 

Marion Lychenheim 
Leo Sowerby . 


PAGE 

. 355 
S56 


THE RAILROAD CARS ARE COMING 
JERRY, GO AN* ILE THAT CAR 
IF I DIE A RAILROAD MAN 
CAP*N I BELIEVE 


Henry Francis Parks . 
Arthur Faneell 
Hazel F elm an 


. 358 
. 360 
. 362 
363 


JAY GOULD'S DAUGHTER AND ON THE CHARLIE SO LONG . 
CASEY JONES 
MAMA HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? .... 
DON* LET YO* WATCH RUN DOWN ..... 


Hazel Felman 
R. Emmet Kennedy 
Harry Gilbert . 


. 364 
. . 366 
. 368 
370 


THERE'S MANY A MAN KILLED ON THE RAILROAD . 
SHE'LL BE COMIN' ROUND THE MOUNTAIN 

I WENT DOWN TO THE DEPOT 
EVER SINCE UNCLE JOHN HENRY BEEN DEAD . 

GO 'WAY F'OM MAH WINDOW 


Hazel Felman 
Hazel Felman 
Marion Lychenheim, 
Hazel Felman 
Leo Sowcrby . 


. 371 
. 372 
. . 374 
. 376 
377 


MY LULU 


Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 378 


THE WIND IT BLEW UP THE RAILROAD TRACK 
HOG-EYE 


Alfred 0. Wathall . . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 379 
. 380 


MY SISTER SHE WORKS IN A LAUNDRY .... 
I FOUND A HORSE SHOE 
RAILROAD BILL 
HANGMAN 


Hazel Felman 
Henry Joslyn 
Alfred G. Wathall . . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 881 
. 382 
. 384 
. 385 


TIMBER 


Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 386 



353 



The wish to gather and preserve popular song may be viewed as accompanying or growing 
out of the trend toward democracy. It parallels for literary history the change taking place in the 
history of society in general. Since the eighteenth century the attention of political thinkers has 
descended through the various strata of society until the lowest strata are now in the foreground 
of interest. It has often been pointed out that contemporary historians endeavor to chronicle 
the common man as well as the hero. The lowly may now serve as central characters in fiction 
and drama which were once concerned solely with patricians. Similarly, the interest of literary 
historians and of students and readers has extended downward from the masterpiece till it embraces 
the humble and unrecorded literature of the folk. 

LOUISE POUND in American Songs and Ballads. 



854 



BOLSUM BROWN 



Who he was, this Bolsum Brown, and who she was, the Sister Mary referred to, we do not know. 
And nobody cares. But the song passes the time among the jxxiple who work for a living. 

Arr. M. L. 







There's a red light on the track for Bolsum Brown, For Bolsum Bro'wn, for Bolsum 




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Brown. 



There's a red light on the track, and it'll be 








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there when he comes back, There's a red light on the track for Bol - sum Brown. 

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1 There's a red light on the track for Bolsum 2 Hop along, Sister Mary, hop along, 

Brown, Hop along, hop along. 

For Bolsum Brown, for Bolsum Brown. There's a red light on the track, 

There's a red light on the track, And it'll be there when he comes back. 
And it'll be there when he comes back. 



There's a red light on the track for Bolsum 
Brown. 

355 



There's a red light on the track for Bolsum 
Brown. 



POOR PADDY WORKS ON THE RAILWAY 

Gangs of pick and shovel men from Ireland made the dirt and gravel fly in the years named 
in this song, as they were building the many little stub line railroads that were later connected into 
trunk lines. Emerson wrote then, "The poor Irishman a wheelbarrow is his country." It is a 
considerable song and has been widely sung and known since its publication in sheet music in the 
early 1850's. Since then, too, the Irish have had a high percentage of railway executives; they 
have a faculty for railroading. 

Arr. L. S. 







3gggE 



Oh 



in eigh - teerihun-dredand for - ty one My cor- du-roybritch - 




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I put on, My eor-du-roy britches I put on, To work up -on the rail -way, the 

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rail - way, I'm wea-ry of the rail - way; Oh poor Pad-dy works on the rail - way! 

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356 



POOR PADDY WORKS ON THE RAILWAY 

1 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty -one 
My corduroy britches I put on, 

My corduroy britches I put on, 

To work upon the railway, the railway, 

I'm weary of the railway; 

Oh poor Paddy works on the railway! 

2 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-two 
I did not know what I should do, 

I did not know what I should do, 

To work upon the railway, the railway, 

I'm weary of the railway; 

Oh poor Paddy works on the railway ! 

8 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-three 
I sailed away across the sea, 
I sailed away across the sea, 
To work upon the railway, the railway, 
I'm weary of the railway; 
Oh poor Paddy works on the railway! 

4 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-four 
I landed on Columbia's shore, 

I landed on Columbia's shore, 

To work upon the railway, the railway, 

I'm weary of the railway; 

Oh poor Paddy works on the railway! 

5 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-five 
When Daniel O'Connell he was alive, 
When Daniel O'Connell he was alive, 
To work upon the railway, the railway, 
I'm weary of the railway; 

Oh poor Paddy works on the railway! 

6 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-six 

I changed my trade to carrying bricks, 
I changed my trade to carrying bricks, 
From working on the railway, the railway, 
I was weary of the railway; 
Oh poor Paddy worked on the railway! 

7 Oh in eighteen hundred and forty-seven 
Poor Paddy was thinking of going to Heaven, 
Poor Paddy was thinking of going to Heaven, 
After working on the railway, the railway, 
He was weary of the railway; 

Oh poor Paddy worked on the railway I 

357 



THE RAILROAD CARS ARE COMING 



Federal government experiments with camels in the 1850's were no go. The hope was that 
caravans of dromedaries might carry freight traffic from New Orleans to the west coast. . . . 
Horse, mule, burro, were good overland freighters. But the box car was better; it gave cruel desert 
spaces a friendly and human look. ... As the work gangs spiked rails to ties and the eastern and 
western gangs came closer, this song arose, one verse with jubilation, one with laughter at the prairie 
dog, the rattlesnake and owl having their dominion of the desert interrupted. . . . We have this 
text and tune from Margery K. Forsythe of Chicago, who learned it from her pioneer mother. 

Arr. H. F. P. 




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The great Pa-cif-ie rail-way, for Cal - i - for - ni - a hail ! Bring on the lo - co - mo-tive, Lay 






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down the i - ron rail; A - cross the roll - ing prair-ies, By Steam we're bound to go, The 




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rail-road cars are corn-ing, hum-ming Through . . . New Mex - i - co, The 



THE RAILROAD CAHS AHK COMING 










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rail - road cars are com-ing, hum-ming Through 



New Mex - i - co. 




The great Pacific railway, 

For California hail ! 
Bring on the locomotive, 

Lay down the iron rail; 
Across the rolling prairies 

By steam we're bound to go, 
The railroad cars are coming, humming 

Through New Mexico, 
The railroad cars are coming, humming 

Through New Mexico. 



The little dogs in dog-town 

Will wag each little tail; 
They'll think that something's coming 

A-riding on a rail. 
The rattle-snake will show its fangs, 

The owl tu-whit, tu-who, 
The railroad cars are coming, humming 

Through New Mexico, 
The railroad cars are coming, humming 

Through New Mexico. 




JERRY, GO AN' ILE THAT CAR 



In 1884 Charles Lummis heard Gunnysack Riley sing this at Albuquerque, New Mexico- 
Later, as an editor, he wanted the verses and put the matter up to Santa Fe railroad officials, who 
sent out a general order covering the whole system, calling for verses to Jerry Go An' De That Car. 
A lost song was dug up. ... Of the text here, Lumrais says, "The words are pretty nearly con- 
clusive, but any one who can round them out will do service to history." , . . The tune is given 
as notated by Arthur Farwell from Charles Lummis as learned from Gunnysack Riley. 



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Come all ye rail - road sec - tion men, An* lis - ten to my song, 



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is of Lar - ry O' Sul li - van, Who now is dead and gone. 



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360 



JERRY, GO AN' ILE THAT CAR 



"j'int" a - head and cm - ter back, An' Jer - ry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" 







1 Come all ye railroad section men, 

An* listen to my song; 
It is of Larry O'Sullivan, 

Who now is dead and gone. 
For twinty years a section boss, 

He niver hired a tar 
Oh, it's " j'int ahead and cinter back, 

An* Jerry, go an* ile that car-r-r!" 

2 For twinty years a section boss 

He worked upon the track, 
And be it to his cred-i-it, 

He niver had a wrack, 
For he kept every j'int right up to the p'int 

Wid the tap of the tampin'-bar-r; 
And while the byes was a-shimmin' up the tics, 

It's "Jerry, wud yez ile that car-r-r !" 

3 God rest ye, Larry O'Sullivan, 

To me ye were kind an' good; 
Ye always made the section men 

Go out and chop me wood; 
An' fetch me wather from the well, 

An' cut the kindlin' fine; 
And anny man that wudn't lind a han' 

Twos Larry'd give him his Time. 



4 And ivery Sunday marni-i-ing 

Unto the gang he'd say: 
"Me byes, prepare yez be aware 

The ould lady goes to church the day. 
Now I want ivery man to pump the best that 

For the distance it is far-r-r; (he can, 

An' we have to get in ahead of Number 10 

So, Jerry, go an' ile that car-r-r!" 

5 Twas in November, in the winter time, 

An' the ground all covered wid snow, 
"Come, putt the hand-car-r on the track, 

An* over the section go!" 
Wid his big sojer coat buttoned up to his t'roat 

All weathers he wud dare - 
An' it's "Paddy Mack, will yez walk the track, 

An* Jerry, go an* ile that car-r-r!" 

6 "Give ray rispicts to the Roadmas-ther," 

Poor Larry he did cry, 
"And lave me up, that I may see 

The ould hand-car-r before I die. 
Then lay the spike-maul upon his chist, 

The gauge an' the ould claw-bar-r, 
And while the byes do be fillin' up the grave, 

Oh, Jerry, go and ile that car-r-r!" 



861 



IF I DIE A RAILROAD MAN 

O Lord, let it rain, 

Wet my little dress! 

So that corn will be cheaper 

Arid I can fill my belly! 



This translation from hieroglyphics on an ancient Egyptian temple is among the oldest known 
songs of working jwople. It is not a far cry from such lines to the replies of a witness before the 
industrial relations commission, who told the commission's examiner, Frank P. Walsh, that he and 
other railroad men had at a certain time been "sitting and talking." "What were you talking 
about?" "Oh, just railroad talk." "Anything particular in railroad talk." "No, just railroad 
talk." "Well, could you tell us just what you mean by railroad talk?" "Oh whiskey and 
women and higher wages and shorter hours.". . . . The lyric here is a white and negro blend in 
its making; it was heard at the University of Kentucky; the young man who sang it said the notes 
are sometimes "blued" and it is then called The Louisville & Nashville Blues. 

Arr. H. F. 




They took John Hen-ry to the steep hill -side; He looked to the heav-en a- 










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bove. 



He says: "Take my ham-mer and wrap it in gold And 




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IF 1 DIE A RAILROAD MAN 



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give it to the girl I love, And give it to the girl I 



love, 



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1 They took John Henry to the steep hillside; 
He looked to the heaven above. 
He says: "Take my hammer and wrap it in gold 
And give it to the girl I love, 
And give it to the girl I love. 



"If I die a railroad man, 
Go bury me under the tie, 
So I ran hear old No. 4 
As she goes rolling by, 
As she goes rolling by. 



8 "If I die a railroad man, 
Go bury me under the sand, 
With a pick and a shovel at my head and feet, 
And a nine-pound hammer in my hand, 
And a nine-pound hammer in my hand." 



CAP'N, I BELIEVE 



When Tubman K. Hedrick, poet and philosopher, was a water boy on a building construction 
job in a Texas town, he heard negroes, going up a ladder with hods of mortar, chanting "Cap'n, 
I believe" to the bricklayers above who replied as our text indicates. It reminds us of one Pat 
who told one Mike, "All I do is carry the bricks up the ladder the man on top does all the work." 




Cap'n, 



be - lieve, Cap'n, I be - lieve, Cap'n, I be * lieve, 




i=H 



be-lieve, be-15eve I'll die. "Oh, no, you ain't gon-na die. Come on with that 

mo-tah!" Cap'n, etc. 



JAY GOULD'S DAUGHTER and ON THE CHARLIE SO LONG 



The Goulds arid the Vanderbilts were big names in railroading in the 1880's. Daughters in 
both families found their way into railroad and hobo songs. . . . The "blind** baggage car, with 
a platform but no front door, hooked on just back of the engine tender, was a place bums rode; 
engine crews sometimes gave them hot water. . . .Srnoke, dust, gravel, get into the nose and eyes, 
and grind into the skin of those riding the rods under a box car or in the trucks of a passenger coach; 
loosening a hold or going to sleep means death. . . . The same tune goes for Jay Gould's daughter 
and that train wreck ballad On The Charlie So Long (B). Both texts are from the collection of 
John Lomax while the tune is from the singing of Mrs. Lomax. 



Rather fast 



Arr. H. F. 




On a Mon-day morn-in* it be - gan to rain; 



A roun* the bend come a 







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good old ho - bo, but he's dead an* 



gone. 



Dead an* gone, 



JAY GOULD'S DAUGHTER 



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dead and gone, He's a good old ho - bo, but he's dead and gone. 




1 On a Monday mornin* it began to rain; 3 
Aroun' the bend come a passenger train. 

On the bumpers was a hobo John; 

He's a good old hobo, but he's dead and gone. 

Dead and gone, dead and gone, 
He's a good old hobo, but he's dead and gone. 

2 Charley Snyder was a good engineer, 4 
He told his fireman not to fear, 

All he needed was water and coal ; 

Put your head out the window, see the drivers roll, 

See the drivers roll, see the drivers roll. 
Put your head out the window, see the drivers roll. 



Jay Gould's daughter said before she died: 
"There's one more road I'd like to ride." 
"Tell me, daughter, what can it be?" 
"It's in southern California on the Santa Fe, 

On the Santa Fe, on the Santa Fe, 
It's in southern California on the Santa Fe." 

Jay Gould's daughter said before she died, 
"Father, fix the blind so the bums can't ride; 
If ride they must, let them ride the rod, 
Let 'em put their trust in the hands of God, 
In the hands of Go<i in the hands of God, 
Let 'em put their trust in the hands of God." 



ON THE CHARLIE SO LONG 



1 On a Monday morning it began to rain, 
Around the bend come a passenger train; 
On the bumpers was an old Jimrnie Jones, 
He's a good old porter but he's dead and gone; 

Dead and gone, dead and gone, 
'Case he been on the Charlie so long. 

2 Joseph Mickle was a good engineer, 
Told the fireman never to fear; 

All he wanted was to get her good and hot, 
"We'll make Paris 'bout four o'clock, 

'Bout four o'clock, 'bout four o'clock, 
'Case we been on the Charlie so long." 

3 When we got within a mile of the place, 
Number One stared us right in the face; 
The conductor pulled his watch, and mumbled 

and said, 
" We may make it but we'll all be dead, 

We'll all be dead, we'll all be dead, 
'Case we been on the Charlie so long. 



4 As the two locomotives was about to bump, 
The fireman prepared to make his jump; 
The engineer blowed the whistle, and the fire- 
man bawled, 

" Please, Mr. Conductor, won't you save us all? 
Won't you save us all? Won't you save us all? 
'Case you been on the Charlie so long." 

5 O you ought to been there for to see the sight, 
Screaming and yelling, both colored and white; 
Some were crippled and some were lame, 
And the six-wheel driver had to bear the blame, 

Had to bear the blame, had to bear the 
'Case he been on the Charlie so long, [blame, 

6 O ain't it a pity, ain't it a shame? 

The six-wheel driver had to bear the blame. 
Some were crippled, and some were lame, 
And the six-wheel driver had to bear the blame, 
Had to bear the blame, had to bear the 
'Case he been on the Charlie so long, [blame, 



365 



CASEY JONES 1 

At Dodge City, Kan Has, in the Santa Fe railway station grass and flower plot, stands a plain 
memorial, a wooden i>ost painted white with the reminder in black letters: Lest We Forget. 
Fastened to the post is an old time, cast-iron Link-and-Pin, the slaughterer, the crepe hanger, the 
maker of one-arrned men peddling lead pencils on payday night, the predecessor of the beneficent 
Safety Coupler. . . . The laughter of the railroad man at death and mutilation runs through many 
of his songs. The promise of a wooden kimono, a six foot bungalow, is with him on every trip 
whether he's on a regular run or the extra list, and no matter what his seniority. . . . Verses sung 
by railroad men were printed in that remarkably American j>eriodical, The Railroad Man's Maga- 
zine, under the editorship of Robert Davis. . . . Then came the sheet music version, widely popular. 
Lumberjacks, college girls, aviators, and doughboys, have made versions of their own. . . . Songs 
are like [>eople, animals, plants. They have genealogies, pedigrees, thoroughbreds, cross-breeds, 
mongrels, strays, and often a strange love-child. . . . The Casey Jones song may stem from several 
earlier pieces that have the same gait, freckles, disposition, color of hair and eyes. Among such 
earlier pieces are Brady Why Didn't You Run?, Jay Gould's Daughter, On The Charlie So Long, 
Vanderbilt's Daughter, Mama Have You Heard the News? and all the earlier known songs in which 
figure Casey Jones, K. C. Jones, David Jones, and still other Joneses. . . . Two melodies are 
presented here. One is the traditional Casey Jones, the other (B) is the lesser known Mama Have 
You Heard the News? Some verses of the two songs are as interchangeable as standard box cars; 
others are narrow gauge and dinky. The second tune (B) is one notated in Ohio by Josephine 
Winston of the University of North Carolina. 

Arr. R. E. K. 





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4 By Newton and Seibert, copyright renewed 1988 Shnpiro, Bernstein & Co. Inc. proprietors. 



CASEY JONES 




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round -er's name* On a heav-y big eight wheeler of a might y fame. 




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1 Come all you rounders, for I want you to hear, 
The story of a brave engineer. 

Casey Jones was the rounder's name. 
On a big eight wheeler of a mighty fame. 

2 Caller railed Casey 'bout half-past four, 
He kissed his wife at the station door. 
Climbed to the cab with the orders in his hand, 
He says, "This is rny trip to the holy land." 

8 Out of South Memphis yard on the fly, 

Heard the fireman say, "You got a white eye." 
Well, the switchmen knew by the engine moan 
That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones. 

4 The rain was com in* down five or six weeks. 
The railroad track was like the bed of a creek. 
They slowed her down to a thirty mile gait 

And the south-bound mail was eight hours late. 
< 

5 Fireman says, "Casey, you're runnin' too fast, 

You run that block board the last station you passed/* 
Casey says, "I believe we'll make it though, 
For she steams a lot better than I ever know." 

6 Casey says, "Fireman, don't you fret, 

Keep knockin' at the fire door, don't give up yet, 

I'm going to run her till she leaves the rail, 

Or make it on time with the south -bound mail." 

7 Around the curve and down the dump, 
Two locomotives was a bound to jump, 
Fireman hollered, "Casey, it's just ahead, 

We might jump and make it but we'll all be dead." 

867 



CASEY JONES 

8 Around the curve comes a passenger train, 

Casey blows the whistle, tells the fireman, "Ring the bell/* 
Fireman jumps and says "Good-by, 
Casey Jones, You're bound to die." 

9 Well Casey Jones was all right. 

He stuck to his duty day and night. 

They loved his whistle and his ring number three, 

And he came into Memphis on the old I. C. 

10 Fireman goes down the depot track, 
Begging his honey to take him back, 

She says, "Oranges on the table, peaches on the shelf, 
You're a goin' to get tired sleepin' by yourself." 

11 Mrs. Casey Jones was a sittin* on the bed. 
Telegram comes that Casey is dead. 

She says, "Children, go to bed, and hush your cryin', 
'Cause you got another papa on the Frisco line." 

12 Headaches and heartaches and all kinds of pain. 
They ain't apart from a railroad train. 

Stories of brave men, noble and grand, 
Belong to the life of a railroad man. 



B 



MAMA HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? 




Arr. H. G. 

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Ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma have you heard the news? Dad-dy got killed on the C-B-and Q's; 




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368 



MAMA HAVE YOU HEARD THE NEWS? 




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Shut your eyes and hold your breath, We'll all draw a pen - sion up - on pa- pa's death, 




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Up -on pa-pa's death, up -on pa-pa*s death, We will all draw a pen-sion up-on pa-pa*s death. 




1 Mama, mama, mama have you heard the news? 
Daddy got killed on the C-B-and Q's. 
Shut your eyes and hold your breath, 
We'll all draw a pension upon papa's death. 
Upon papa's death, upon papa's death, 
We will all draw a pension upon papa's death. 

Early in the morning when it looked like rain 
Around the curve came a gravel train; 
On the train was Casey Jones, 
He's a good old rounder but he's dead and gone, 
But he's dead and gone, he's dead and gone, 
He's a good old rounder but he's dead and gone. 

3 All the way by the last board he passed, 
Thirty-five minutes late with the U. S. mail, 
Casey Jones to his fireman said, 

"We'll make it into Canton or leave the rail, 

Or leave the rail, or leave the rail, 

We'll make it into Canton or leave the rail." 

4 When Casey's family heard of his death 
Casey's daughter fell on her knees, 
"Mama, mama, how can it be 

Papa got killed on the old I. C.?" 

"O hush your mouth and hold your breath, 

"We'll all draw a pension from Casey's death.*' 

169 



DON* LET YO' WATCH RUN DOWN 

The toiling negro on railroad, levee, dump, his knees in mud, and thinking of his "luluh", begs 
cap'n (boss or gang foreman) to have the time of day correct. . . . " Workin' " may be "wukhin ' ". 
"Haist" means "hoist." Third verse lines with dialect out would read: 

When you see me coming 
Hoist your windows high; 
When you see me leaving 
Hang down your heads and cry, 

Brownskins, 
Hang down your heads and cry. 

We have tli is text and tune from a notable treatise on South Texas Negro Work-Songs by Gates 
Thomas in No. 5 of Publications of the Texas Folk Lore Society. 



3 



^ 







Don 9 let yo* watch run down, Cap - 'n, Don* let yo' watch run down. 




J J 



Work-in' on de lev - ee, dol-lar'n half a day, Work-in' for my lu - luh, 







w 



get - tin' mo' dan pay, Cap - 'n, Get - tin' mo* dan pay. 



1 Don' let yo' watch run down, Cap'n, 2 Don* let yo' watch run down, Cap'n, 

Don* let yo' watch run down. Don* let yo' watch run down. 

Workin' on de levee, dollar 'n half a day, Workin' on de railroad, mud up to my knees, 

Workin' for my hiluh, gettin* mo* dan pay, Workin' for my luluh, she's a hard ole gal to 



Cap'n, 
Gettin' mo* dan pay. 



please, Cap'n, 
She's a hard ole gal to please. 



3 Don' let yo' watch run down, Cap'n, 
Don' let yo' watch run down. 
When you see me comin* haist yo' windo's high, 
When you see me leavin' hang down yo' heads an* cry, brownskins, 
Hang down yo' heads an* cry. 

870 



THERE'S MANY A MAN KILLED ON THE RAILROAD 



The crying out loud is heard here; over smash-ups, head-on collisions, cow-catchers telescoped 
in cabooses, the iron horse meeting a broken rail and taking a tumble down an enbankment, the 
undertakers' harvest that came after someone was asleep at the switch the crying out loud is 
heard here. ... It is the landlubl>er brother of the sailor windlass song A Hundred Years Is A 
Very Long Time. . . . The prolonged repetitions of the word "r-a-M-r-o-a-d" go with a crying out 
loud. 

Arr. H. F. 




^EEE^ 



There's man - y a man killed on the rail - road, 





r 




^JJ==J! 



* 



i 



^ 



rail - road, 



rail - road. There's man - y a man killed on the 




:^= 



An' cast in a lone - ly grave. 



rail - road, 




^ 



w 



r 



There's many a man killed on the railroad, railroad, railroad, 
There's many a man killed on the railroad, 
An* cast in a lonely grave. 

871 



SHE'LL BE COMIN' ROUND THE MOUNTAIN 



An old-time negro spiritual When the Chariot Comes (B) was made by mountaineers into 
Shell Be Comin' Round the Mountain, and the song spread to railroad work gangs in the midwest 
in the 18f)0's. 

Arr. H. F. 









^ 



E 



She'll be corn-in* round the mountain, When she comes. 



She'll be corn-in* round the 







3 a-a 





i 




a-:! 









numn-tain, When she comes. 



She'll be com - in* round the moun-tain, She'll be 



1^ I ""^ 1 UiUMBMMS ESI 

__, I ^"*^ ^v^^^ i ^ i , \~- , ^ i r^. w^ ^ 




S 








com-in' round the mountain, She'll be com-in' round the mountain, When she comes. 





SHE'LL BE COMIN' ROUND THE MOUNTAIN 



1 She'll be com in* round the mountain, 

When she comes. 
She'll be comin' round the mountain, 

When she comes. 

She'll be comin* round the mountain, 
She'll be comin' round the mountain, 
She'll be comin' round the mountain, 

When she comes. 



Shell be drivin* six white horses, 

When she comes. 
She'll be drivin' six white horses, 

When she comes. 
She'll be drivin' six white horses, 
She'll be drivin' six white horses, 
She'll be drivin' six white horses, 

When she comes. 



3 Oh we'll all go to meet her, 

When she comes. 
Oh we'll all go to meet her, 

When she comes. 
We will kill the old red rooster, 
We will kill the old red rooster, 
And we'll all have chicken and dumplin', 

When she comes. 



B 

1 O, who will drive the chariot when she comes? 
O, who will drive the chariot when she comes? 

O, who will drive the chariot, O who will drive the chariot, 
O, who will drive the chariot when she comes? 

2 King Jesus, he'll be driver when she comes, 

3 She'll be loaded with bright angels, 

4 She will neither rock nor totter, 

5 She will run so level and steady, 

6 She will take us to the portals. 




373 



I WENT DOWN TO THE DEPOT 



This is the negro version of the Jesse James ballad, as heard by Charles Rockwood in work 
gangs of the south. 

Arr. M. L. 



Ek-JIJ'J. J, |g 



I went down to the de-pot, not man-y nights a - go, And there I done something I 





;. ijj. A 



nev - er done be - fore. I got down on my knees And de-liv-ered up the keys To 




JTL V S it r 
W*~~* i j! J* ^ * 


" fir 




n- 


M J. J J | 


^"J ^~? ^ 


Frank and his bro-ther Jes - se James. 


Po' Jes se James, 


po' Jes - se James, I'll 


(feiLJzJ^-d 


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r = r r 



374 



I WENT DOWN TO THB DEPOT 




s 



^ 



nev-cr see my Jes-se an - y more; 



'Twas a dirt-y lit -tie cow-ard He 




r r r 



f= j f=M 





m 



shot Mis - ter How-ard An* he laid Jes - se James in his grave. 




1 I went down to the depot, not many nights ago, 
And there I done something I never done before. 
I got down on my knees 
And delivered up the keys 
To Frank and his brother Jesse James. 
Po' Jesse James, po' Jesse James, 
I'll never see my Jesse any more; 
'Twas a dirty little coward 
He shot Mister Howard 
An* laid Jesse James in his grave. 



Jesse James was a man and he had a robber band, 
And he flagged down the east bound train. 
Robert Ford watched his eye, 
And he shot him on the sly, 
And they laid Jesse James in his grave. 
Po' Jesse James, po' Jesse James 
I'll never see my Jesse any more. 
'Twas a dirty little coward 
That shot Mister Howard 
And laid Jesse James in his grave. 



3 Jesse James* little wife was a moaner all her life 
When they laid Jesse James in his grave. 
She earned her daily bread 
By her needle and her thread 
When they laid Jesse James in his grave. 
Po' Jesse James, po' Jesse James, 
I'll never see my Jesse any more. 
Robert Ford's pistol ball 
Brought him tumbling from the wall 
And laid Jesse James in his grave. 



EVER SINCE UNCLE JOHN HENRY BEEN DEAD 



This, as sung on western railroads, probably derives from the famous John Henry ballad. It 
may be sung with pick and shovel motions for the tamping of railroad ties or the swings of a hammer 
breaking hard rock, "ever since" for one stroke, "Uncle John" with another stroke, "Henry 
been" once more, "dead" once more, and so on. 

Arr. H. F. 

Heavy 






L-* *- 



Ev - er since Un - cle John Hen - ry been dead 



All of the worn - en are 




a 



"-III 



qzi 



('on 8vi. btitmo, acrnpre 







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d-v 



wear - in* red. 



=P= 









Dis 



yere ham - mer, 



nine-pound ham-mer, 




E 



i 



Kill mah part-ner, 



kill John Hen-ry, Kill 



him dead. 



^ 



-Z5T 

H 




jgTT^S 

I jgG ; 







Ever since Uncle John Henry been dead 
All of the women are wearin red. 
Dis yere hammer, nine-pound hammer. 
Kill mah partner, kill John Henry, 
Kill him dead. 

376 



GO 'WAY FOM MAH WINDOW 



This negro woodchopper's song came up from Arkansas and the Ozarks to Tubman K. Hedrick, 
author of "The Orientations of Hohen," when he was a newspaperman in Memphis, Tennessee. 
. . , Phrases of it time with ax-strokes. "Go 'way" sinks the ax, "f'om my window" sinks it 
again, and so on. 

Arr. L. S. 

Moderately flow 



^ 



3^ 



3 



m 



1. Go 'way f'om mah win-dow, Go 'way f'om mah doh, Go 

2. Go Vay in de spring-time, Come back in de fall, Bring you 



SEE 







-* r*z 



Si 



way 



f'om mah bed - side, Don' you tease me 



no 



mo 




m 



i 



m 



f=^ 



i 



back 




mo mon - ey 



Dan we bofe 







< 



can haul. 



m 



=F 



J I* J 



1 Go Vay f'om mah window, 
Go 'way f'om mah doh, 
Go 'way f'om mah bedside, 
Don' you tease me no mo*. 



377 



Go Vay in de springtime, 
Come back in de fall, 
Bring you back mo* money 
Dan we bofe can haul. 



MY LULU 



Cowboys, loggers, pick and shovel stiffs, leathernecks, scissorbills, bootleggers, beer runners, 
hijackers, traveling men, plasterers, paperhangers, bogheads, tallowpots, snakes and stingers, and 
many men who carry gadgets and put on gaskets, have different kinds of verses about Lulu. Since 
the Chicago fire, the St. Louis cyclone and the Chatsworth wreck, she is the most sung about female 
character in American singing. We present nine of the nine hundred verses. 



-fr-n ?" N 


Arr. A. G. W. 

m P* N N fe I 


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r-*-- -* -* w 1 '-! 


-*- ^ tr __ 



i 



My Lu - lu hugged and kissed me, She wrung my hand and cried, 



She 









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said I was the sweet - est thing That ev - er lived or died. 



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1 My Lulu hugged and kissed me, 

She wrung my hand and cried, 
She said I was the sweetest thing 
That ever lived or died. 

2 My Lulu's tall and slender, 

My Lulu gal's tall and slim; 
But the only thing that satisfies her 
Is a good big drink of gin. 



S If you go monkey with my Lulu gal 

I'll tell you what I'll do, 
I'll carve your heart out with my razor, 
I'll shoot you with my pistol, too. 

4 My Lulu gal's a daisy, 

She wears a big white hat; 
I bet your life when I'm in town 
The dudes all hit the flat. 



S78 



MY LULU 



5 I ain't goin* to work on the railroad, 

I ain't goin' to lie in jail, 
But I'm goin' down to Cheyenne town 
To live with my Lulu gal. 

6 My Lulu, she's an angel, 

Only she aint got no wings. 
I guess I'll get her a wedding ring, 

When the grass gets green next spring. 



7 My Lulu, she's a dandy, 

She stands and drinks like a man, 
She calls for gin and brandy, 
And she doesn't give a damn. 

8 Engineer hlowed the whistle, 

Fireman rang the bell, 
Lulu, in a pink kimona 
Says, " Baby, oh fare thee well." 



9 I seen my Lulu in the springtime, 

I seen her in the fall; 
She wrote me a letter in the winter time, 
Says, "Good-by, honey," that's all. 



THE WIND IT BLEW UP THE RAILROAD TRACK 

This is for cold weather, around the stove in the switch shanty. 



h(fKE H N N |s -jf ^ 


i s j * 


=< J.. j r-jr 


--j jt 


L ^K " * 'I 9 
The wind it blew up tl 

^ft_ hj ^ ^ 1 "* j J - ^ 


ie rail - road track, 


It blew, it ble> 


v, The 


-p ^ * J J -* 

wind it blew up the ra 


iil - road track, It 

ftp & A 


blew, ... it blew; , 


. . The 


wind it blew up the 

rQ f) 1 to 1% h 1 


rail - road track, 

H 


It blew way up 

jjjjlj ^ j j 


4* imr-r 4^ - 

and 


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hah* way back, And the wind it blew, Ho - ly Jim-i-ny! how it blew! 

The wind it blew up the railroad track, 

It blew, it blew, 
The wind it blew up the railroad track, 

It blew, it blew; 

The wind it blew up the railroad track, 
It blew way up and half way back, 

And the wind it blew, 

Holy Jiminy! how it blew! 

879 



HOG-EYE 



A lusty and lustful song developed by negroes of South Carolina, who had it from sailors 
originally, is Hog-Eye. In themes it is primitive, anatomical, fierce of breath, aboriginal rather 
than original. One lone verse, passing any censor, is presented, with a tune notated by Julia 

Peterkin. 

Air. A. G. W. 

Rubab) -^ * 



1 



u= 



Hog -eye gal am a deb-bil of a gal. What de deb - bil ail 'em? 'E 



'h/Tf ' Z~ _....." " 

yiltIriL_-jZL:- :L_L~.: 



,/ 







ipi 



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drinked a pint ob but - ter - milk An swear, by gosh, it killed 'em! 



U 



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j ,. j j ^ 



Ro - ly - bo - ly sho - ly, hog -eye! .... Ro - ly - bo - ly sho - ly hog - eye! 



i 



i 



Hog-eye gal am a debbil of a gal. 
What de debbil ail 'em? 
'E drinked a pint ob' butter-milk 
An swear, by gosh, it killed 'em! 
Ro-ly-bo-ly sho-ly hog-eye! 
Ro-ly-bo-ly sho-ly hog-eye! 

880 



MY SISTER SHE WORKS IN A LAUNDRY 

This is a bitter ditty of low life, a rhyme of things beyond statistics, epitomized autobiography 
wondering what it is laughing at. 

Arr. H. F. 



tr 




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s j 1 

My 


| m * * f. L M 1 
sis - ter she works in a 

i r r r r r f=\ 


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laun - dry, My 

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LUJ " ~ " Lj J 


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fa - ther he fid - dies for gin, 


My mo - ther she takes in 

* ^ ^ E ? p ? ^ ^ ? 


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JE!^ J P ^ . _ 



ft t I I 

3L_L- ==^ y 







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wash - ing, 



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My God, how the mon - ey rolls in. 








My sister she works in a laundry, 
My father he fiddles for gin, 
My mother she takes in washing, 
My God, how the money rolls in. 
381 



I FOUND A HORSESHOE 



Railroad switchmen at Illinois and Iowa division points sang this on nights in the 1890's when 
their gloves froze to the coupling pins between coal cars, and it was fun to reach a shanty stove. 
. . . Paperhangers, icewugon drivers, hash slingers and short order cooks have joined up and 
sung it on summer evenings for g<x>d people gathered under the Chinese lanterns of a lawn sociable, 
with ice cream served by the Ladies' Aid Society. . . . Henry Joslyn sets it here as a four-part 

piece for quartets. 

Arr: H. J. 

TKISTOKH Very faxt 

t^R^-*^^-ifc 1 :"l : EE 



TKNOKH Very f<i*t __ , .^ _ 

i 'f 



s c 1 s 



1 [ found a horse-shoe, 
HAHHKH (Ant) 



I found a horse - shoe. I picked it up and 




... r 

_e ; \ \ 



I found it horse-shoe, I found a horse-shoe. I picked it up and 





nailed it on the door; And it was rust-y and full of nail holes, Good luck 'twill bring to 







.A. 






nailed it ou the door; And it was rust-y and full of nail holes, Good luck 'twill bring to 







-g-V g?U P 






UUlx 



you for - ev - er - more. ... 



The man who owned the horse he lived in New York, 






i 



you for - ev - er - more. . . . The man who owned the horse he lived in New York, New 



P^rFFTE 



"T~? : \ F 



The man who owned the horse lie lived in New York. 



The man who owned the 



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A 

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~r~ 

York, The man who owned the horse he lived in New York, New York, The man who owned the 

882 



I FOUND A HORSESHOE 



i 



-H 4_^_ 



horse, The man who owned the horse, The man who owned the horse he lived in New York. 




r i 

horse, The man who owned the horse.The man who owned th'e horse he lived in New York. 



1 I found a horseshoe, I found a horseshoe. 
I picked it up and nailed it on the door; 
And it was rusty and full of nail holes, 
Good luck 'twill bring to you forevermore. 

2 The man who owned the horse he lived in New York, 
The man who owned the horse he lived in New York, 

The man who owned the horse, 
The man who owned the horse, 
The man who owned the horse he lived in New York. 

3 The horse that wore the shoe his name was Mike, 
The horse that wore the shoe his name was Mike, 

The horse that wore the shoe, 
The horse that wore the shoe, 
The horse that wore the shoe his name was Mike. 




883 



RAILROAD BILL 



Whereas John Henry was strong at driving steel and was a kindly family man, Railroad Bill is 
fierce and deep in sin and cussedness, "a mighty bad man." He carries mean hardware, steals the 
wives of rnen, and is a man-killer with the police after him. . . . There was an actual Railroad 
Bill who shot to kill and was feared and hunted. Southern negro work gangs have fixed him in a 
ballad of hundreds of lines. . . . The verses couple onto each other like fast mail coaches. Singers 
hesitate nowhere and stride through this with the clip of a non-stop train. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



3/w/mito 




Rail -road Bill, 



Rail - road Bill, 



He nev - er work and he 




m 







1 Railroad Bill, Railroad Bill, 
He never work and he never will; 
Well, it's bad Railroad Bill. 

* Railroad Bill, Railroad Bill, 

Took ev* thing that the farmer had; 
That bad Railroad Bill. 

8 Railroad Bill had no wife, 

Always looking for somebody's wife; 
Then it's ride, ride, ride. 



4 Kill me a chicken, send me the wing, 

They think I'm working but I ain't done a thing ; 
Then it's ride, ride, ride. 

5 Railroad Bill, mighty bad man, 

Shoot the lantern out the brake man's han', 
Bad Railroad Bill. 

6 Railroad Bill, desp'rate an' bad, 
Take ev'thing po* women's had; 
Then it's ride, ride, ride. 

884 



RAILROAD BILL 



7 Railroad Bill, coming home soon, 

Killed MacMillan by the light o* the moon; 
Then it's ride, ride, ride. 

8 MacMillan had a special train, 
When he got there it was spring, 
Well, it's ride, ride, ride. 



9 Two policemen, dressed in blue, 
Come down the street in two and two; 
Well, it's looking for Railroad Bill 

10 Ev'body tol' him he better turn back. 
Bill was a-going down the railroad track; 
Well, it's ride, ride, ride. 



HANGMAN 

As they sang in that Santa Fe smoker in Texas, I did not ask them why they joked about 
being in jail in Oklahoma nor why they enlisted in the regular army. They wore bib overalls, their 
hands were acquainted with shovels, and they told Lengthy, a Tennessee boy, to sing this or they 
would knock his block off. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Moderate . 







* fr 






Hang-man, hang-man, slack up on your rope. Sweet -heart, sweet-heart, 




Lugubrf 



ftp- 



S^^t 

SI 11 * =9 



poro forte 




can you give rne any hope? You've broke a heart a-many a timc;Butyou'U never break this heart of mine. 




I Hangman, hangman, slack up on your rope. 2 Hangman, hangman, slack up on your rope. 

Sweetheart, sweetheart, can you give me any hope? Sister, sister, can they give me any hope? 
You've broke a heart a-many a time; 
But you'll never break this heart of mine. 

385 



She broke a heart a-many a time; 
She'll never break this heart of mine. 



TIMBER 



An old negro on an Indiana farm near Porter had sung many spirituals and was asked, " Did 
you ever make up a song while working with other workers on a job?" He said that near Lynch- 
burg, Virginia, when he was young they were cutting down timbers and hauling to a building 
under construction, and they made a hundred verses to this tune. ... In his notable series of 
articles in the New York Times on "Folk Songs of America/' R. W. Gordon says of work chanteys, 
"The solo lines arc sung by one man, a leader or 'foresinger,' and the crowd joins in on the refrain. 
The task may l>e one that calls for a series of heavy pulls on a rope or of successive heaves when 
moving a heavy piece of timber. ... A song often used on the docks is composed out of fragments 
loosely strung together. Tomorrow, or at a different task, it will be sung differently. Local allusions 
may at any time be introduced, but the tune and the refrain will remain the same. The very 
looseness of form in these work chanteys gives the leader a wonderful opportunity for directing 
the work without seeming to do so. If he is clever he will take advantage of many facts. To keep 
his men working steadily over long periods without feeling fatigue, he will choose a song that seems 
endlessly monotonous and count on its hypnotic power. Whenever a specially heavy heave is 
needed he will introduce a humorous verso or one that will appeal to the imagination of the men. 
Unconsciously, they will shout the refrain louder and at the same time pull harder. A good leader 
will always be careful to choose a song fitted to the task, one that has just the proper resting period 
in proportion to the frequency arid the strength of the required pulls. He will pick a slow rhythm 
for continued work, a quirk one for a sudden burst of energy." ... In the following work chantey 
the singers took turns improvising solo lines, the group joining in on "Hallelujah, I don't know." 



Chnntetl; tempo ad lib. 




ff: 



Moderate 



Arr. A. G. W. 



=t J J > f. 




We are trying to carry this timber to the build-ing. Hal - le - lu - jah, I don't know. 




1 We are trying to carry this timber to the building. 
Hallelujah, I don't know. 

2 We will make doors and windows in that building. 
Hallelujah, I don't know. 

3 We will build it to the glory of the Lord. 
Hallelujah, I don't know. 

886 



LUMBERJACKS, LOGGERS, SHANTY-BOYS 



HARMONIZATION BY PAGE 

JAMES WHALAND Alfred G. Wathall .... 389 

THE SHANTY-MAN'S LIFE Charles Fancell Edson , . . 890 

FLAT RIVER GIRL 3/anon Lychenheim . . . 39$ 

THE JAM ON GERRY'S ROCK 394 

DRIVING SAW-LOGS ON THE PLOVER Cliarhs Farwcll Ed son . . . 396 

MOHRISSEY AND THE RUSSIAN SAILOR 398 

MULE SKINNER'S SONG Henry Fruncis Parks . . . 400 



887 



Science, invention, new machinery, the I. W. W., the Y. M. C. A., phonograph, radio, movies, 
and welfare organizations, have changed logging camp conditions, so that singing and singers are 
not what they used to be. The old-time shanty boy in Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota, is gone. 
Franz Rickaby walked across the old lumber region from Charlevoix, Michigan, to Grand Forks, 
North Dakota, one summer, carrying a violin and a packsack, stopping where night found him, 
playing his violin and asking people, "What are the old songs you sing here?" And the ballads he 
picked up were all from old men. The pioneer lumberjacks^cut the trees that made the frame 
houses of pioneer prairie farmers. Rickaby met W. N. Allen of Wausau, Wisconsin, who sang of 
the cut-down pine tree made into sawlogs, sent on a river to a mill, and of how 

"Then they'll sell you to some farmer 
To keep his wife and children warmer. 
With his team he'll haul you home 
To the prairie drear and lone. 
Into a prairie houre he'll make you, 
Where the prairie winds will shake you. 
There'll be little rest for thee, 
O ye noble Big Pine Tree. 
The prairie winds will sing around you. 
The hail and sleet and snow will pound you, 
Arid shake and wear and bleach your bones, 
On the prairie drear and lone." 

Still other conditions have changed. In Stewart Edward White's "The Blazed Trail" an old 
timer says, "The towns of Bay City and Saginaw alone in 1878 supported over fourteen hundred 
tough characters. Block after block was devoted entirely to saloons. In a radius of three hundred 
feet from the famous old Catacombs could be numbered forty saloons where drinks were sold by 
from three to ten * pretty waiter girls.' When the boys struck town, the proprietors and waitresses 
stood in their doorways to welcome them. ... If Jack resisted temptation and walked reso- 
lutely on, one of the girls would remark audibly to another, 'He ain't no lumberjack! You can 
see that easy 'miff. He's just off the hay trail'. Ten to one that brought him." 

Rickaby 's "Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy" has in it the big woods silence, the spray of 
white water, the roar of log jams, besides many things brawny, reeking and raucous out of the bunk- 
house. He understood rough men, their rough work, words, weather. He was the first to put the 
singing lumberjack into an adequate document and book. Of the logging camp fiddler it was 
remarked, "He gets the swing of the tune and then plays it to suit himself." and to this Rickaby adds: 
"Getting the swing of the melody of a song, and then bending both melody and words into satis- 
factory union, is fundamental in folk-song. The singing of a ballad is a free and unconfined process. 
The story is the clear unmortgaged possession of the personality whose lips happen to be forming 
it at the time; word and note must serve, but they must not get in the way. Thus it is that a 
singer, in three successive renditions of the same line, may sing it no twice alike. Not only may the 
melody vary slightly, but 'they* may become 'we,' 'though* may become 'although,' 'Willie* may 
become 'William,' or even another person entirely. 'Oh* may be omitted, or supplied; or 'it's* 
or 'then* or 'now'; and so on through a hundred similar or greater possibilities. This may all 
sound slovenly and unkempt to the conscious artist; but in the realm of popular balladry, until 
one does it, the ballad is not truly his." 

388 



JAMES WHALAND 



Slow, ponderous, inevitable, this proceeds like a witness whose testimony is unshakable. He 
saw what he tells, knows how it happened, and is sure it is the truth. . . . Edwin Ford Piper of 
the University of Iowa, heard this in the 1890's from farmhands who had been up in a Minnesota 
logging camp. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Modernto con tnoto. Lugubre 




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Come all you brave young shan - ty - boys, I pray you all draw near, 



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of a fright - fill ac - ci - dent, That I would have you 



hear. 




1 Come all you brave young shanty-boys, 
I pray you all draw near, 

Tis of a frightful accident 
That I would have you hear. 

2 Tis of a young and comely youth, 
James Wtialand he was called, 

Got drownded from Le Claron's raft, 
All on the upper falls. 

8 The water being in its raging course, 
The river rolling high, 
When the foreman to young Whaland said, 
"The jam you'll have to try." 



4 As they were rolling off the logs, 
Young Whaland made a shout: 

44 To shore, to shore, mv shanty -boys, 
The jam is going out! 

5 Those mighty logs went end on end, 
With fearful crashing sound, 

And when the shanty -boys looked back, 
Young Whaland had gone down. 

6 The foaming waters tore and tossed 
The logs from shore to shore, 

And here and there his body lies, 
A-tumbling o'er and o'er. 



589 



THE SHANTY-MAN'S LIFE 



Franz Rickaby heard from an old shanty-boy, A. C. Hannah at Bimidji, Minnesota, the same 
tune that John Lomax met in Texas. The cowpuncher of the southwestern plains and the lumber- 
jack of the north woods strung on the same old Irish melody verses telling of similar troubles and 
like gaiety. Though they have "a wearisome life" it is "void of all slavish fear/' 

Arr. C.F.E. 




Oh, a shanty-man's life is a wearisome life, although some think it 



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drear. Ly - ing in the shan - ty bleak and cold while the cold storm - y win - try winds 



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390 



THE SHANTY -MAN'S LIFE 




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blow, And as soon as the day-light doth ap - pear, to the wild woods we must go. 



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1 Oh, a shanty-man's life is a wearisome life, although some think it void of care, 
Swinging an ax from morning till night in the midst of the forests so drear. 
Lying in the shanty bleak and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow, 
And as soon as the daylight doth appear, to the wild woods we must go. 

2 Oh, the cook rises up in the middle of the night saying, "Hurrah, brave boys, it's day." 
Broken slumbers ofttimes are passed as the cold winter night whiles away. 

Had we rum, wine or beer our spirits for to cheer as the days so lonely do dwine, 
Or a glass of arty shone while in the woods alone for to cheer up our troubled minds. 

3 But when spring it docs set in, double hardships then begin, when the waters are piercing cold, 
Arid our clothes are dripping wet and fingers benumbed, and our pike-poles we scarcely ran hold. 
Betwixt rocks, shoals and sands give employment to all hands our well-banded raft for to steer, 
And the rapids that we run, oh, they seem to us but fun, for we're void of all slavish feur. 

4 Oh, a shanty lad is the only lad I love, and I never will deny the same. 

My heart doth scorn these conceited farmer boys who think it a disgraceful name. 

They may boast about their farms, but my shanty -boy has charms so far, far surpassing them all, 

Until death it doth us part he shall enjoy my heart, let his riches be great or small. 




891 



FLAT RIVER GIRL 



A member of the Great Lakes Seamen's Union sang this for me at the Union headquarters in 
Milwaukee, Wisconsin, when I was marine editor of a newspaper. Later I found the same tune 
going to a prison song, Cousin Nellie, and to part of the cowboy song, When The Work's All Done 
This Fall. . . . Rickaby gives four texts and tunes to this piece, one old timer saying the Flat 
River flows through Greenville, Michigan, and "Jack Haggerty was a lumberjack and from a man 
who used to run a livery stable and rent him horses I learned that he was not quite so rough as most 
of those birds, and was a little more dressy." 

Air. M. L. 




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FLAT RIVER GIRL 




think of Jack Hag-ger-ty 



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1 Come all you fine young fellow with hearts so warm and true, 
Never believe in a woman; you're lost if you do. 

But if you ever see one with long brown chestnut curls, 
Just think of Jack Haggerty and his Flat River girl. 

2 Her form was like the dove, so slender and so neat, 
Her long brown chestnut curls hung to her tiny feet, 
Her voice it was like music or murmurs of the breeze 

As she whispered that she loved me as we strolled among the trees. 

3 She was a blacksmith's daughter from the Flat River side, 
And I always had intended for to make her my bride; 
But one day on the river a letter I received : 

She said that from her promise herself she had relieved. 

4 To her mother, Jane Tucker, I lay all the blame. 
She caused her to leave me and to blacken my name. 
I counted her my darling, what a lady for a wife! 
When I think of her treachery it nearly takes my life. 

5 Come all you fine young fellows with hearts so warm and true. 
Never believe in a woman; you're lost if you do. 

But if you ever see one with long brown chestnut curls, 
Just think of Jack Haggerty and his Flat River girl. 




893 



THE JAM ON GERRY'S ROCK 

On a melodious winter evening in Salem, Oregon, Charles Olaf Olsen, logger and poet, was 
nsked to tell a lie that had few words and much imagination. He said, "Once there was a logger 
who had a trunk." . . . Then James Stevens, logger and author, sang "The Jam on Gerry's 
Rook," sonorously, rockingly, beating time with a sure, unfailing foot that slammed the floor with 
accurate measures. ... It is a heavy, brooding ballad, portentous as a log boom on an ice 
locked river. . , . Rickaby, in an extended note, says it was born in Canada or Michigan, with 
the odds of witnesses in favor of Michigan. He observes, "Old fellows told me anyone starting 
(Jerry's Rock in the shanties was summarily shut off because the song was sung to death; others 
vow that of all songs it was ever and always the most welcome." . . . "Deacon seat" was 
si unity lingo for a seat, or board, extending from the lower tier of bunks and running square or 
oblong around the biinkhouse; it wufl where they sat between suppertirne and bedtime and smoked, 
talked, sang, and told Paul Bunyari stories. 




Come all ye true-born shan-ty-boys, wher - ev - er you may be, Come sit ye on the 







dea-con seat and lis - ten mi - to me. I'll sing the jam on Ger-ry's Rock and a 







he - ro you should know, The bravest of all shan-ty-boys, the foreman. Young Mun-ro. 



1 Come all ye true-born shanty-boys, wherever you may be, 
Come sit ye on the deacon seat and listen unto me. 

Fll sing the jam on Gerry's Rock and a hero you should know, 
The bravest of all shanty -boys, the foreman, Young Munro. 

2 'Twas on a Sunday morning, ere daylight did appear. 

The logs were piling mountain-high: we could riot keep them clear. 

"Cheer up! Cheer up, my rivermen, relieve your hearts of woe! 

We'll break the jam on Gerry's Rock!" cried our foreman, Young Munro. 



3 Now some of them were willing, while others hid from sight. 
To break a jam on Sunday they did not think it right. 
Till six of our brave shanty-boys did volunteer to go 
And break the jam on Gerryla Rock with our foreman, Young Munro. 

394 



THE JAM ON GERRY'S ROCK 

4 They had not picked off many logs till Munro to them did say, 

"I must send you back up the drive, my boys, for the jam will soon give way!'' 

Alone he freed the key-log then, and when the jam did go 

It carried away on the boiling-flood our foreman, Young Munro. 

5 Now when the boys up at the camp the news they came to hear, 
In search of his dead body down the river they did steer; 

And there they found to their surprise, their sorrow, grief and woe, 
All bruised and mangled on the beach, lay the corpse of Young Munro. 

6 They picked him up most tenderly, smoothed clown his raven hair. 
There was one among the watchers whose cries did rend the air. 
The fairest lass of Saginaw let tears of anguish flow; 

But her moans and cries could not awake her true love, Young Munro. 

7 The Missus Clark, a widow, lived by the riverside; 
This was her only daughter, Munro's intended bride. 

So the wages of her perished love the boss to her did pay 

And a gift of gold was sent to her by the shanty-boys next day. 

8 When she received the money she thanked them tearfully, 
But it was not her portion long on the earth to be; 

For it was just six weeks or so when she was called to go 

And the shanty-boys laid her at rest by the side of Young Munro. 

9 They decked the graves most decently 'twas on the fourth of May 
Come all ye true-born shanty -boys and for a comrade pray! 
Engraven on a hemlock tree which by the beach did grow, 

Are the name and date of the mournful fate of the foreman, Young Munro. 




395 



DRIVING SAW-LOGS ON THE PLOVER 



Winter was the big time for work in the logging camps. The logs cut during winter were floated 
to the saw mills as the frozen rivers loosened up for the "drive" in the spring. Boys needed on the 
farms in summer and fall took a turn at logging in the winter. So there was plenty of argument 
on whether a farm hand or a shanty -boy had the better of it, in pay and cash or in favor with the 
girls. . . . In M. C. Dean's collection The Flying Cloud is an old song I Love My Sailor Boy, 
with a mother's advice and a daughter's scorn in two verses: 

"Then wed a steady farmer's son that whistles at the plow, 
And then you will have time enough to tend both sheep and cows. 
But your sailor he'll carouse and drink whenever he comes on shore, 
And when his money is spent and gone, he'll sail the seas for more." 

"A fig for all your farmer's sons! Such lovers I disdain. 

There is not one among them dare face the raging main. 

And when the winds are howling and the billows are white as snow, 

I'll venture rny life with the lad that dare go where stormy winds do blow." 

The text and tune here were notated by Franz Rickaby from W. N. Allen of Wausau, Wisconsin. 
Allen composed the verses in 1873, using the tune of an old song about a mother's words to her son 
as he went away to the Crimean War. 

Arr. C. F. E. 




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moth -cr of a shan-ty-boy, And dole-ful was her cry, Saying, "God be with you, Johnnie, Al- 

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896 



DRIVING SAW-LOGS ON THE PLOVER 



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though you're far a - way Driving saw-logs on the Plo-ver, Andyou'U never get your pay. 






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1 There walked on Plover's shady banks 
One evening last July, 

A mother of a shanty-boy, 
And doleful was her cry, 
Saying, "God be with you, Johnnie, 
Although you're far away 
Driving saw-logs on the Plover, 
And you'll never get your pay. 

2 "O Johnnie, I gave you schooling, 
I gave you a trade likewise; 

You need not been a shanty-boy 
Had you taken my advice. 
You need not gone from your dear home 
To the forest far away, 
Diving saw-logs on the Plover? 
" And you'll never get your pay. 

3 "O Johnnie, you were your father's hope, 
Your mother's only joy. 

Why is it that you ramble so, 
My own, my darling boy? 
What could induce you, Johnnie, 
From your own dear home to stray, 
Driving saw-logs on the Plover? 
And you'll never get your pay. 



4 "Why didn't you stay upon the farm, 
And feed the ducks and hens, 

And drive the pigs and sheep each night 

And put them in their jyens? 

Far better for you to help your dad 

To cut his corn and hny 

Than to drive saw-logs on the Plover, 

And you'll never get your pay." 

5 A log canoe came floating 
Adown the quiet stream. 
As j>eacefully it glided 

As sonic young lover's dream. 

A youth crept out upon the bank 

And thus to her did say, 

"Dear mother, I have jumped the game, 

And I haven't got my pay. 

6 "The boys called me a sucker 
And a son-of--gun to boot. 

I said to myself, *() Johnnie, 
It is time for you to scoot.' 
I stole a canoe and started 
Upon my weary way, 
And now I have got home again, 
But nary a cent of pay. 



7 "Now all young men take this advice: 
If e'er you wish to roam, 
Be sure and kiss your mothers 
Before you leave your home. 
You had better work upon a farm 
For half a dollar a day 
Than to drive saw-logs on the Plover, 
And you'll never get your pay/' 

397 



MORRISSEY AND THE RUSSIAN SAILOR 



A biography titled " Life of John Morrissey, the Irish Boy Who Fought His Way to Fame and 
Fortune'* tells about a prize fighter, gambler, i>olitician who became state senator and Member 
of Congress. His big fights were in the 1850's and he defeated Thompson, the Yankee Clipper, the 
Benieia boy, in the squared circle, as related in this song. He was a " Paddy " and a ring hero, too, 
OS related. But sporting authorities consulted on the point fail to find that he ever planted his 
knuckles in a Russian sailor Vi face nor fought any such thirty -eight-round contest as here described. 
Yet the song delivers the atmosphere of the old-time bare-fisted ring fight. ... It is presented 
here as sung by M. C. Dean, of Virginia, Minnesota, author of "The Flying Cloud," a collection of 
lumberjack and Great Lakes songs and American ballads. On the currency of this and similar 
balkds Franz Rickaby wrote this eloquent and informative note: "In the logging camp the hegem- 
ony in song belonged to the Irish. Although the Scotch and French-Canadian occur occasionally, 
the Irish were dominant, and the Irish street-song was the pattern upon which a liberal portion of 
the shanty-songs were made. Irishmen sailed the seas of the world. In the armies of England 
they fought against Russia and died on the fields of Indian insurrection. In Canada and the 
United States, whither they migrated in hordes, they fought wherever there was fighting. And in 
this New World those of them who were thrifty and provident laid foundations of homes; and those 
who were not, didn't. But whatever they did, they made and sang songs; and wherever they went 
roving, they took them along. Thus it was that the shanties rang with songs of ships and piracy, 
of American battle charges, and of prize-fights in far-lying ports of the world; of charging the heights 
of Alma, of dying in India for Britannia and Britannia's Queen, and of sailing the lakes with red 
iron ore of all these, as well as of harvesting the mighty pine." 



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prais - es of an I - rish he - ro brave, Con-cern - ing a great fight, me boys, all 




on the oth - er day, Be-tween a Rus-sian sail - or and bold Jack Mor-ris-sey. 



1 Come all you sons of Erin, attention now I crave, 
While I relate the praises of an Irish hero brave, 
Concerning a great fight, me boys, all on the other day, 
Between a Russian sailor and bold Jack Morrissey. 

2 It was in Terra del Fuego, in South America, 

The Russian challenged Morrissey and unto him did say 
"I hear you are a fighting man, and wear a belt I see. 
\Vhat do you say, will you consent to have a round with me?" 

398 



MORRISSEY AND THE RUSSIAN SAILOR 

3 Then up spoke bold Jack Morrissey, with a heart so stout and true, 
Saying, "I am a gallant Irishman that never was subdued. 

Oh, I can whale a Yankee, a Saxon bull or bear, 

And in honor of old Paddy's land I'll still those laurels wear. 

4 These words enraged the Russian upon that foreign land, 
To think that he would be put down by any Irishman. 

He says, "You are too light for me. On that make no mistake, 
I would have you to resign the belt, or else your life I'll take." 

5 To fight upon the tenth of June these heroes did agree, 
And thousands came from every part the battle for to see. 
The English and the Russians, their hearts were filled with glee; 
They swore the Russian sailor boy would kill bold Morrisscy. 

6 They both stripped off, stepped in the ring, most glorious to be seen, 
And Morrisscy put on the belt bound round with shamrocks green. 
Full twenty thousand dollars, as you may plainly see, 

That was to be the champion's prize that gained the victory. 

7 They both shook hands, walked round the ring, commencing then to fight. 
It filled each Irish heart with joy for to behold the sight. 

The Russian he floored Morrisscy up to the eleventh round, 
With English, Russian, and Saxon cheers the valley did resound. 

8 A minute and a half our hero lay before ho could rise. 

The word went all around the field: "He's dead," were all their cries. 
But Morrissey raised manfully, and raising from the ground, 
From that until the twentieth the Russian he put down. 

9 Up to the thirty -seventh round 'twas fall and fall about, 
Which made the burly sailor to keep a sharp lookout. 

The Russian called his second and asked for a glass of wine. 
Our Irish hero smiled and said, "The battle will be mine." 

10 The thirty-eighth decided all. The Russian felt the smart 
When Morrissey, with a fearful blow, he struck him o'er the heart. 
A doctor he was called on to open up a vein. 

He said it was quite useless, he would never fight again. 

11 Our hero conquered Thompson, the Yankee Clipper too; 
The Benicia boy and Shepherd he nobly did subdue. 

So let us fill a flowing bowl and drink a health galore 
To brave Jack Morrissey and Paddies evermore. 

309 



MULE SKINNER'S SONG 



"When the rosy fingers of dawn came stealing on soft feet along the eastern horizon, and it 
was time to get up and go to work, we sometimes heard a negro mule skinner singing of himself, 
of George Me Vane, and of three mules, two with names and one anonymous." Thus James Stevens, 
author of "Brawnyman" and other books, tells how in a Puget Sound logging camp he heard the 
musical fragment given here. . . . Stevens tells how he often met Mr. Puget, the contractor who 
hired Paul Bunyan to bring Babe the Blue Ox and dig out Puget Sound. Mr. Puget told Stevens 
how rain was interfering with Paul and Babe on the excavating work, and one day when a water- 
spout came traveling up as far as the Sound had been dug then, Paul dived deep, swum till he was 
under the waterspout, and then climbed with powerful overhand strokes till he reached the top. 
When Paul came down the waterspout was gone. "What did you do?" asked Mr. Puget, Paul 
answering, "I turned it off." . . . Though there are many stories there seem to be no songs of or 
by Paul Bunyan. . . . There is, however, one of and by a black mule skinner. 

Arr. H. F. P. 




O ah drove three mules foh Gawge Me- Vane, An* ah drove them three mules on a chain. 




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ah drove three mules foh Gawge Me Vane, 
An' ah drove them three mules on a chain. 
Nigh one Jude, an' de middle one Jane, 
An* de one on de stick she didn't have no name. 

400 



SAILOR MAN 



HARMONIZATION BY PAQH 

WHISKY JOHNNY Hazel Felman .... 403 

BLOW THE MAN DOWN MolUe Nemkovsky . . . 404 

THE DEAD HORSE Marion Lychenheim . . . 406 

HEAVE AWAY 407 

THE WIDE MIZZOURA 408 

I CATCH-A DA PLENTY OF FEESH Henry Francis Parks . . . 409 

THE HOG-EYE MAN Edward Collins . . . .410 

LEAVE HER, BULLIES, LEAVE HER 412 

ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN 41$ 



401 



WHISKY JOHNNY 



Once when the night was wild without and the wintry winds piled snowdrifts around the traffic 
signals on Cottage Grove Avenue, Chicago, we sat with Robert Frost and Padraic Colum. The 
Gael had favored with Irish ballads of murder, robbery, passion. And Frost offered a sailorman song 
he learned as a boy on the wharves of San Francisco. 



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good long pull and a strong one too, Whis-ky for my John ny! 




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1 As we sailed on the water blue, 
Whisky Johnny, 

A good long pull and a strong one too, 
Whisky for my Johnny. 



S Whisky made mo pawn my clothes, 
Whisky Johnny, 
Whisky gave me this red nose, 
Whisky for ray Johnny. 



Whisky killed my brother Tom, 
Whisky Johnny, 
I drink whisky all day long, 
Whisky for my Johnny. 



4 Whisky stole my brains away, 
Whisky Johnny, 
The bos'n pipes and I'll belay, 
Whisky for my Johnny. 



403 



BLOW THE MAN DOWN 

Robert Frost as a boy in San Francisco learned shanties from listening to sailors and dock- wal- 
lopers along the water front. He saved these tunes and verses in his heart. A favorite with him is 
Blow The Man Down. It has the lurch of ships, tough sea legs, a capacity for taking punishment 

and rising defiant of oppression and tyranny. 

Arr. M. N. 



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1 As I was a-walkin' down Paradise Street 
To me aye, aye blow the man down ! 
A saucy young p'liceman I chanced for to meet; 
Blow the man down to me aye, aye, blow the man down! 
Whether he's white man or black man or brown, 
Give me some time to blow the man down, 
Give me some time to blow the man down, 
Blow the man down! bullies! 

% You're off from some clipper that flies the Black Ball, 
To me aye, aye blow the man down! 
You've robbed some poor Dutchman of coat, boots, and all; 
Blow the man down, &c. 

3 P'liceman, p'liceman, you do me much wrong 
To me aye, aye blow the man down! 

I'm a peace party sailor just home from Hong Kong; 
Blow the man down, &c. 

4 They gave me six months in Ledington jail 
To me aye, aye blow the man down! 

For kickin* and fightin* and knockin* 'em down; 
Blow the man down, &c. 



405 



THE DEAD HORSE 



The seamen on the old sailing vessels drew a month's pay before sailing. This was, as the folk 
proverbs of many nations have it, a dead horse to be paid for. At the end of the first sailing month, 
a canvas bag shaped like a horse was stuffed with straw, hoisted to the main yardarm, and given a 
sea burial. The ceremonial and its sung and spoken lines varied. Those below were given me in 
Philadelphia, by the daughter of a sailing master. Joanna Colcord designates it as a shanty used 
for halliards and capstan on American ships. 

Arr. M. L. 



E* 



J 



3 



They say, old man, your horse will die. And they say so and they hope so. They 




F=^===: 



-A 



f=P 




S^E 



S 



say, old man, your horse will die. O, poor old 



horse! 




1 They say, old man, your horse will die. 
And they say so and they hope so. 
They say, old man, your horse will die. 
O, poor old horse! 



And if he dies they'll tan his hide, 
And they say so and they hope so. 
And if he dies they'll tan his hide, 
O, poor old horse! 



8 And now he's gone he's buried deep, 
And they say so and they hope so. 
And now he's gone he's buried deep, 
0, poor old horse! 

406 



HEAVE AWAY 

The name of Henry Clay rhymes with "heave away." What more was wanted? He was 
the idolized "Handsome Harry of the West" in the 1840's. This is among the few known work 
songs of the slave days of the American negro. It is not a ditty but a sonorous, flexible melody. 




Heave a - way, heave a - way! I'd ra - ther court a yel - low gal Than 



E 



J' E f C' E 



work for Hen - ry Clay, Heave a - way, heave a - way! Yel - low 



^^-^^ 






gal, 



want to go. I'd rath - er court a yel - low gal Than 






work for Hen - ry Clay. Heave a - way! Yel -low gal, I want to go! 

Heave away, heave away ! 

I'd rather court a yellow gal 

Than work for Henry Clay, 

Heave away, heave away! 

Yellow gal, I want to go. 

I'd rather court a yellow gal 

Than work for Henry Clay. 

Heave away! Yellow gal, I want to go! 




407 



THE WIDE MIZZOUKA 

Regular army men were singing this in 1897. Many years earlier sailonnen were singing it their 
way. . . . Shannadore, I am told, may have been the name of a ship. Or it may be the old time 
pronunciation of the name of an Indian chief or the historic Virginia valley. When I asked Joseph 
B. Fifcr, former governor of Illinois about his early life, he said, "I was born in the Shannadore 
Valley. " That was in the early 1840's. . . . The song was used as a capstan shanty, Joanna Colcord 
tells us. She notates it with varied time in her book "Roll and Go,'* and comments, "The tune is 
very free in its rhythms and cannot be written in one tempo. " How that comment does go for so 
many good songs! 




* 



= 



m 



^=? 



O Shan-na-dore, I love your daugh-ter, Hi - oh, you roll -ing riv - er, 1*11 take her 



3 



r-^h j[y T j I ji 



'cross the roll-ing wa - tcr, Ah hah, I'm bound a -way 'cross the wide Miz-zou-ra. 



O Shannadore, I love your daughter, 
Ili-oh, you rolling river, 
I'll take her 'cross the rolling water, 
Ali-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz- 
zoura. 

For seven years I courted Sally, 
Ili-oh, you rolling liver, 
For seven more I longed to have her, 
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz- 
zoura. 



3 She said she would not be my lover, 
Hi-oh, you rolling river, 

Because I was a dirty sailor, 
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz- 
zoura. 

4 A-drinkin' nun and a-chewin* t'baccer, 
Hi-oh, you rolling river, 
A-drinkin' rum and a-chewin' t'baccer, 
Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Miz- 

zoiira. 




406 



I CATCH-A DA PLENTY OF FEESH 



At Fishermen's Wharf and on Telegraph Hill in San Francisco they sing in such lingo as the heart 
commands. Harry Dick, Lillian Bos, and other occupants of crow nests on the topmost crags and 
crannies of Telegraph Hill, have heard this air and verse and have hunted a missing stanza about 
the selling of the fish. 

Arr. H. F. P. 



c 



m 

r 



I sail o-ver the o - cean blue, 



I catch-a da plen-ty of feosh ; The rain come down like 

h 





r v 







b^ 



And the wind blow thro* my whcesk. Mar - i - an, my good corn-pan, 







=te^ 

t i~ff- ff f* j 1 J. 

^ic *::*: -*^* 





=* 



S^-t 



f 



f g. 






^ 



* 



it 



3F Hf 




EEi 



I 7 i-ra fe Gar - i - bal - <fi7 Ft - i>a, n - va, vi-va l'1-tal - i - an<?/ 



j n 



^ 



*!* 




Jubilantly 



*=i 



rZL J , f 



=t= 



J: 



f 






5 



i 



35 



i 



-^ 

I sail over the ocean blue, 

I catch-a da plenty of feesh; 

The rain come down like hell, 

And the wind blow through my wheesk. 

O Marian, my good com pan, 

Viva le Garibaldi/ 

Viva, viva 9 viva Vltalianel 

409 



THE HOG-EYE MAN 



A "hog-eye" was sailor slang in the 1850's for a barge that cruised around Cape Horn to San 
Francisco, where a dirty, tumultuous little Babylon met all newcomers and offered them a "good 
time." Spenders with nuggets of gold and sacks of gold dust met gamblers and women from no- 
where, not telling their real names. It was a lighted town that beckoned seamen from afar; it crept 
into a sea song, of how the hog-ye men were all the go when they came down to old San Francisco. 
I heard the cracked voice of an old time sailor sing it, in 1922, just after R. W. Gordon had him 
make a phonograph cylinder record. The singer put in a high falsetto chuckle once in a while as if 
the song meant there was joy to corne or mischief ahead or happiness remembered. 

f AIT. E. C. 

m f 







O, the hog - eye men are all the go, When they come down to old 





f CHORDS 

'==$EESE3^&^i&r=^ 

* ^- ^ ^~j . 



-4 



San Fran - cis - c-o. And a hog -eye, 



rail- road nig- ger with his hog - eye, 





//, 



^ 



Row the boat a - shore, and a hog - eye, O, She wants the hog - eye man. 




410 



THE HOG-EYE MAN 

1 O the hog-eye men are all the go, 

When they come down to old San Francisco. 

Chorus: 

And a hog-eye, railroad nigger with his hog-eye, 
Row the boat ashore, and a hog-eye, O, 
She wants the hog-eye man. 

2 O the hog-eye man is the man for me, 
He works all day on the big levee. 

8 Now who's been here since I been gone? 
A railroad nigger with his sea-boots on. 

4 Go bring me down my riding cane, 
For Fin going to see my darling Jane. 

5 O Sally in the garden picking peas, 

II er golden hair hanging down to her knees. 




411 



LEAVE HER, BULLIES, LEAVE HER 

Text A is a hauling song as heard in the port of San Francisco. An earlier version (B), called 
Across the Western Ocean, from the R. W. Gordon collection, dates about 1850, after the Irish 
potato famine; packet ships carried thousands from Liverpool across to where there was "the Irish 
army," the many immigrants to America. "Amelia" is said to trace to the Irish name O'Melia. 



SOLO 




ClIORUfl 



3^2 






Oh the times are hard and the wa - ges low, Oh leave her, bul - lies, leave her; 



SOLO 



CHORl/ft 



^=j-4^F7 i-Hj 



i 



* 



-^_^^E 

go, It's time for us to leave her. 



I guess it's time for us 



to 



1 Oh the times are hard and the wages low, 
Oh leave her, bullies, leave her; 
I guess it's time for us to go, 
It's time for us to leave her. 



Oh don't you hear our old man say, 
Oh leave her, bullies, leave her; 
To-morrow you will get your pay, 
It's time for us to leave her. 



ACROSS THE WESTERN OCEAN 



1 Oh, the times are hard and the wages low- 
Amelia, whar you bound to? 
The Rocky Mountains is my home, 
Across the Western Ocean. 



B 



3 To Liverpool I'll take my way 
Amelia, whar you bound to? 
To Liverpool that Yankee school, 
Across the Western Ocean. 



The Land of Promise there you'll see 
Amelia, whar you bound to? 
I'm bound across the western sea, 
To join the Irish army. 



4 There's Liverpool Pat with his tarpaulin hat- 
Amelia, whar you bound to? 
And Yankee Jack the packet rat, 
Across the Western Ocean. 



5 Beware these packet ships, I say 
Amelia, whar you bound to? 
They steal your hide and soul away, 
Across the Western Ocean. 



413 



BANDIT BIOGRAPHIES 



HARMONIZATION BT PAG1 

JIM FISK Alfred Q. Wathatt .... 416 

JESSE JAMES Marion Lychenheim , . , 420 

SAM BASS Alfred 0. Wathatt .... 422 



418 



JIM FISK 

Jim Fisk was an American business man who rose from Vermont country peddler to he a Civil 
War government supply contractor, a cotton speculator, a Wall Street broker, owner of the Nar- 
ragansett Steamship Lines, owner of the Grand Opera House of New York, Colonel of the Ninth 
Regiment of the New York National Guard, director of the Erie railroad and nicknamed " Prince 
Erie." He joined Jay Gould and others in a conspiracy to corner the gold of the United States in 
1869, was instrumental in bringing on the financial crash of Black Friday, bought and sold judges, 
courts, decisions and writs of injunction, was a participant in the corruption of Tweed and Tam- 
many. He drove a coach and eight horses around New York soliciting supplies for the Chicago fire 
sufferers, sent a carload of provisions and clothes to the stricken city, dispensed charity and won a 
large following of people who believed him a hero of proportions and heart. 

He managed all things for worldly success till he met Helen Josephine Mansfield. He bought 
her a house with the winnings of one night's gambling, gave her horses, jewels, opera box tickets, 
and sent her funny, pompous love letters. She was his plaything; he was her pockctbook. She 
gave his letters to Edward S. Stokes of Philadelphia, who was the Other Man and who came and 
lived with her in the house that was a free gift and token. Newspaj>ers published an affidavit of a 
negro butler of this house telling of a plot of Miss Mansfield and Stokes to force Fisk to pay $$00,000 
to get his letters back, his chuckling, pompous love letters. 

When Miss Mansfield sued for lil>el, Fisk's lawyer declared at the trial, "I expect to show that 
Mr. Fisk found this lady without a dollar; that after lavishing upon her means enough to have 
satisfied Cleopatra herself, when the supply ceased, means were resorted to for the purpose of re- 
newing them. Our defense is that this prosecution has no basis in good faith, nothing but an attempt 
to extort money. And have I not a right to show, if such be the fact, that finding this lady without 
a dollar, and having enriched her although like most riches obtained in this way, it is rapidly 
disappearing that she has had resort to this means to replenish her treasury? Cleopatra aye, 
like unto her; for as the Egyptian siren queen is spoken of by the grandest of poets, 'age cannot 
wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety/ " 

The defense won. Stokes with a gun met Fisk in the Grand Central Hotel one afternoon and sent 
two bullets into his victim, who died that night. Stokes was tried and given a life sentence. Melo- 
dramatic newspaj>er and pulpit comment followed. Of the three, actors in the tragedy, a writer 
declared, "One goes, how unprepared! to his long home -one goes to the solitary gloom of a murder- 
er's cell one to a life of deep, dark, ungovernable remorse." Henry Ward Iteecher turned loose 
an invective declaring: 

"And that supreme mountebank of fortune the astounding event of his age: that a man with 
some smartness in business, but absolutely without moral sense, and as absolutely devoid of shame 
as the desert of Sahara is of grass that this man, with one leap, should have vaulted to the very 
summit of power in New York, and for seven to ten years should have held the courts in his hands, 
and the Legislature and the most consummate invested interest of the land in his hands, and laughed 
at England and laughed at New York, and matched himself against the financial skill of the whole 
city, and outwitted the whole, and rode out to this hour in glaring and magnificent prosperity 
shameless, vicious, criminal, abominable in his lusts, and flagrant in his violation of public decency 
that this man should have been the supremest there; and yet in an instant, by the hand of a fellow 
culprit, God's providence struck him to the ground! And yet I say to every young man who has 
looked upon this glaring meteor, and seen his course of prosperity, and thought that perhaps in- 
tegrity was not so necessary, * Mark the end of the wicked man, ' and turn back again to the ways of 
integrity. " 

415 



JIM PISK 



And there came a song registering its own viewpoint, using the memory of Jim Fisk, a briber 
and comiptionist of courts, as an instance in which to lament the ancient fact that the poor get the 
worst of it when they go into court against the rich. . . . Text and tune here are from N. D. Cochran 
of Toledo, Ohio, who knows much more than most men do about corrupt courts, fixed juries, and 
crooked judges. The song i.s melodramatic and lias maudlin lines. Yet it has been widely known 
and sung across decades in which Jim Fisk, his woman, his assassin, and all their follies were for- 
gotten and being forgotten were forgiven. It has lived on and had a certain folk song vitality as a 
cry for justice, as a moan over money and cunning, greed and hypocrisy, so often winning the 
authorities and the decisions, the power and the glory. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

mf Tempo di 9ale t moderate 




tri-al by the ju - ry, you'll see If you've plen-ty of stamps you can hold up your 




410 



JIM FISK 






head, And walk from your own pris - on door, But they'll hang you up 




rit. 



high, if you* ve no friends or gold, Let the rich go, but hang up the poor. 







REFRAIN 



:: j^ 
<Ki=^P 









In the tri - als for mur - der we have now - a - days, The rich ones get 




J 4^=^^> 
J- * -J- ' -J- -i -J 





i 



4 




417 



off swift and sure;. 



If you've thou - sands to pay 

(unpoco | 



to the 








t=E 



(lunga) 



zff 
" 



n'/ard 



m 



ju - ry and judge, You may bet they'll go back on the poor. 




1 If you'll listen a while, I'll sing you a song 
Of this glorious land of the free; 

And the difference I'll show 'twixt the rich and the poor, 
In a trial by the jury, you'll see. 
If you've plenty of stamps, you can hold up your head 
And walk from your own prison door, 
But they'll hang you up high, if you've no friends or gold, 
Let the rich go, but hang up the poor. 

Refrain: In the trials for murder we have nowadays, 
The rich ones get off swift and sure; 
If you've thousands to pay to the jury and judge, 
You may bet they'll go back on the poor. 

418 



JIM F1SK 

Til sing of a man who's now dead in his grave, 
A good man as ever was born ; 
Jim Fisk he was called and his money he gave 
To the outcast, the poor, and forlorn. 
We all know he loved both women and wine, 
But his heart it was right, I am sure; 
Though he lived like a prince in his palace so fine, 
Yet he never went back on the poor. 

Refrain: If a man was in trouble, Fisk helped him along, 
To drive the grim wolf from the door; 
lie strove to do right, though he may have done wrong, 
But he never went back on the poor. 

3 Jim Fisk was a man wore his heart on his sleeve, 
No matter what people might say; 

And he did all his deeds, both the good and the bad, 

In the broad open light of the day. 

With his grand six-in-hand, on the beach at Long Branch, 

He cut a big dash to be sure; 

But Chicago's great fire showed the world that Jim Fisk, 

With his wealth, still remembered the poor. 

Refrain: When the telegram came that the homeless that night 
Were starving to death slow but sure, 
His lightning express manned by noble Jim Fisk 
Flew to feed all the hungry and poor. 

4 Now what do you think of the trial of Stokes, 
Who murdered this friend of the poor? 
When such men get free, is there anyone safe 
To step outside their own door? 

Is there one law for the poor and one for the rich? 
It seems so, at least so I say; 
If they hang up the poor, why surely the rich 
Ought to swing up the very same way. 

Refrain: Don't show any favor to friend or to foe; 
The beggar or prince at your door. 
The big millionaire you must hang up, also, 
But never go back on the poor. 



419 



JESSE JAMES 



There is only one American bandit who is classical, who is to this country what Robin Hood or 
Dick Turpin is to England, whose exploits are so close to the mythical and apocryphal that to get 
a true picture of him we must read a stern inquiry such as Robertus Love's book, "The Rise and 
Fall of Jesse James." For the uninformed it should be stated that Jesse was living in St. Joseph, 
Missouri, under the name of Howard, when, unarmed, he was shot in the back of the head, and 
killed, by his supposed young friend, Robert Ford. 



Arr. M. L. 


















It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright, They robbed the Glendale train, And the 













T 




s 



peo-ple they did say, for man-y miles a- way, Twos the out-laws Frank and Jes-se James. 



m 




REFRAIN 



j^s-^g 



4 4 



E 



-^- t - 



Jes-se had a wife to mourn all her life, The chil - dren they are brave. Twas a 




420 



JESSE JAMES 



J 



dirt - y lit - tie cow-ard shot Mis-ter How-ard, And laid Jes-se James in his grave. 




1 It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright, 

They robbed the Glendale train. 
And the people they did say, for many miles away, 
'Twas the outlaws Frank and Jesse James. 



Refrain Jesse had a wife to mourn all her life, 

The children they are brave. 
'Twas a dirty little coward shot Mister Howard, 
And laid Jesse James in his grave. 

2 It was Rolx?rt Ford, the dirty little coward, 

I wonder how he docs feel, 

For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed, 
Then he laid Jesse James in his grave. Refrain 

8 It was his brother Frank that robtxnl the Gallatin bank, 

And carried the money from the town. 
It was in this very place that they had a little race, 
For they shot Captain Sheets to the ground. Refrain 

4 They went to the crossing not very far from there, 

And there they did the same; 

And the agent on his knees he delivered up the keys 
To the outlaws Frank and Jesse James. Refrain 

5 It was on a Saturday night, Jesse was at home 

Talking to his family brave, 

When the thief and the coward, little Robert Ford, 
Laid Jesse James in his grave. Refrain 

6 How people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death, 

And wondered how he ever came to die. 
Twas one of the gang, dirty Robert Ford, 
That shot Jesse James on the'sly. Refrain 

7 Jesse went to his rest with his hand on his breast. 

The devil will be upon his knee. 
He was born one day in the county of Clay, 
And came from a solitary race. Refrain 

421 



SAM BASS 



"If a man knows any secrets he should die and go to hell with them in him," said Sam Bass 
as he lay bleeding from bullet wounds, and Texas Rangers and officers of the law asked him who 
were his partners. He and three of his boys, all handy with their six-shooters, on July 20, 1878, 
were in Round Rock, Texas, loafing sort of careless in a cigar store next to a bank they had their 
eye on to rob. Officers of the law, who had been tipped off by the squealer Murphy, spoke to Sam 
and his boys asking who they were, where they came from, how they made their living, and other 
questions often asked of strangers by men wearing stars and badges. Shooting began. One officer 
dropped dead. So did Seaborn Barnes, " right bower to Sam Bass." Sam got away, was found in 
woods near by next day, and died of his wounds on the day after that; it was his 27th birthday 
anniversary. In the woods, knowing he couldn't live, he gave Frank Jackson his horse and told 
him to make a get-away, though Jackson begged to stay and fight. Like other bandits of legend 
and fame Sam Bass was good to the poor. "He would give a poor woman a twenty -dollar gold 
piece for a dinner and take no change," wrote W. P. Webb in No. 8 of the Texas Folk Lore Society 
publications. "He paid farmers well for the horses he took from them, though sometimes he did 
not have time to see the farmer. . . . Sam Bass relics are scattered over the country, everywhere. 
His belt with some cartridges in it is in the library of the University of Texas. A carpenter at 
Snyder has a horseshoe from Bass's l>est race horse nailed to the top of his tool chest. Near Belton 
are some live oak trees that Bass is said to have shot his initials in while riding at full speed. Horns 
of steers supposed to have l>een killed by Bass sell over the country at fancy prices. In Montague 
County, there is a legend of $30,000 of loot buried by Sam Bass. Again, he is supposed to have left 
treasure in the Llano country. At McNeill, near Austin, there is a cave in which Sam Bass hid 
when he was in retirement. There he kept his horses and from there made his forays". . . . Legend 
wrote an epitaph on his monument which is not there: Would That He Were Good as He was Brave. 
Near Sam's pretentious monument, mutilated by souvenir collectors, is a rough sandstone memorial 
to Seaborn Barnes, with the inscription: He Was Right Bower to Sam Bass. Of this, Webb, a 
Texan, commented, "It is written in language Bass would have loved; it has a certain impertinence 
to law abiding people in the nearby graves, a certain pride in the leader at whose heels Barnes died. 
The spirit of the person who wrote the seven words of that epitaph is the spirit that has created the 
legend of Sam Bass in Texas. " Ami, of course, some such spirit has kept the biographic Sam Bass 
ballad alive and going these many years since he met his doom at Round Rock. 

AIT. A. G. W. 







Sam Bass was born in In-di-an - a, it was his na - tive home, And at the age of 







423 



SAM BASS 
9/1*4. 



a 



t 



sev - en -teen young Sam be - gan to roam. Sam first came out to Tex - as 




3E3=3335 







__4J ,1-^ 

^) -.-rrrrz^r- ^ j .p^ 



1 Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home, 
And at the age of seventeen young Sarn began to roam. 
Sam first came out to Texas a cowboy for to l>e, 

A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever sec. 

2 Sam used to deal in race stock, one called the Dcnton mare, 
He matched her in scrub races, and took her to the fair. 
Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free, 

He always drank good whiskey wherever he might be. 

3 Sam left the Collins ranch in the merry month of May 
With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see, 
Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree, 

A harder set of cowboys you seldom ever see. 

4 On their way back to Texas they robbed the U. P. train, 
And then split up in couples and started out again. 

Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon, 

With all their hard-earned money they had to meet their doom. 



SAM BASS 

5 Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care; 
Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to share. 
Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do, 
He robbed all the passenger, mail, and express cars too. 

6 Sam had four companions four bold and daring lads 
They were Richardson, Jackson, Joe Collins, and Old Dad; 
Four more bold and daring cowboys the rangers never knew, 
They whipped the Texas rangers and ran the boys in blue. 

7 Sam had another companion, called Arkansas for short, 
Was shot by a Texas ranger by the name of Thomas Floyd; 
O, Tom is a big six-footer and thinks he's mighty fly, 

But I can tell you his racket, he's a deadbeat on the sly. 

8 Jim Murphy was arrested, and then released on bail; 

He jumped his bond at Tyler and then took the train for Terrell; 
But Mayor Jones had posted Jim and that was all a stall, 
'Twas only a plan to capture Sam before the coming of fall. 

9 Sam met his fate at Round Rock, July the twenty-first, 

They pierced poor Sam with rifle, balls and emptied out his purse. 
Poor Sarn he is a corpse and six foot under clay, 
And Jackson's in the bushes trying to get away. 

10 Jim had borrowed Sam's good gold and didn't want to pay, 
The only shot he saw was to give poor Sam away. 

He sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn, 
O what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn. 

11 And so he sold out Sam and Barnes and left their friends to mourn, 
what a scorching Jim will get when Gabriel blows his horn. 
Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say, 

But if I'm right in my surmise he's gone the other way. 



421 



FIVE WARS 



HARMONIZATION BY 



PAGE 



THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY OR HALF HORSE AND HALF 
ALLN 

JACKSON 

POOR KIT 

THERE W 

A FILJPIN 

THE SERG 

WRAP ME UP IN MY TARPAULIN JACKET AND THE HAND- 
SOME YOUNG AIRMAN 

A WAR BIRD'S BURLESQUE 

HINKY DINKY, PARLEE-VOO 

WHERE THEY WERE 

THE HEARSE SONG 



MTOR 


. . . Alfred G. Wathatt . . 
. Alfred G. Waihatt . 


. 4*7 
. 430 


Y POPCORN 




. 431 


S AN OLD SOLDIER 
> HOMBRE 


Ruth Crawford 
Alfred G. Wathall . 


. 43S 
. 434 


OANT, HE IS THE WORST OF ALL 




, . 435 



Alfred G. WathaU 
Alfred G. Watiiatt 



430 
488 
440 
442 
444 



425 



THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY or HALF HORSE 
AND HALF ALLIGATOR 




These verses done in the style of polite poetry were first sung to the air of Miss Baily. They 
were written by Samuel Wood worth, and published in 1820 by James M. Campbell in a book, Mel- 
odies, Duets, Trios, Songs, and Ballads. Under the title of Hunters of Kentucky, or Half Horse and 
Half Alligator, the song was published in Boston as a broadside. In singing, the pronunciation 
"Kaintucky" seems to be preferred to that of "Kentucky" among those who have perpetuated the 
song. It has been heard among the mountaineers and cowboys; Franz Rickaby found it among 
lumberjacks, and the air here is from the singing of George M. Hankins of Gordon, Wisconsin, as 
notated by Rickaby. The text is from a broadside in the Congressional Library, Washington, D. C. 

Arr. A. G. W. 







3 



Ye gen - tie - men and la - dies fair, Who grace this fa - mous cit - y, Just 



mf leggiero 



2=3P 







(con Sti. ad lib.) 



THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY 



1 J 



r j 






lis - ten if you' ve time to spare, While I re -hearse a dit - ty; And 









J Ji; J J 



5 



for the op - por - tu - ni - ty Con - ceive your-selves quite luck - y, For 




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'tis not of - ten that you see A hunt-er from Ken-tuck - y. Oh, Ken-tuck -y, the 

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hunt - era of Ken-tuck - y ! Oh, Ken-tuck - y, the hunt - era of Ken-tuck - y ! 




428 



THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY 



1 Ye gentlemen and ladies fair, 

Who grace this famous city, 
Just listen if you've time to spare, 

While I rehearse a ditty; 
And for the opportunity 

Conceive yourselves quite lucky, 
For 'tis not often that you see 

A hunter from Kentucky. 
Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky! 
Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky! 

2 We are a hardy, free-born race, 

Each man to fear a stranger; 
Whatever the game we join in chase, 

Despoiling time and danger, 
And if a daring foe annoys, 

Whatever his strength and forces, 
We'll show him that Kentucky boys 

Are alligator horses. 

Oh Kentucky, &c. 

8 I s'pose youVe read it hi the prints, 

How Packenham attempted 
To make old Hickory Jackson wince, 

But soon his scheme repented; 
For we, with rifles ready cock'd, 
Thought such occasion lucky, 
And soon around the gen'ral flock'd 
The hunters of Kentucky. 

Oh Kentucky, &c. 

4 You've heard, I s'pose how New-Orleans 

Is fam'd for wealth and beauty, 
There's girls of ev'ry hue it seems, 

From snowy white to sooty. 
So Packenham he made bis brags, 

If he in fight was lucky, 
He'd have their girls and cotton bags, 
In spite of old Kentucky. 

Oh Kentucky, &c. 



6 But Jackson he was wide awake, 

Aqd was not scar'd at trifles, 
For well he knew what aim we take 

With our Kentucky rifles. 
So he led us down to Cypress swamp, 

The ground was low and mucky, 
There stood John Bull in martial pomp 

And here was old Kentucky. 
Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky ! - 
Oh Kentucky, the hunters of Kentucky ! 

6 A bank was rais'd to hide our breasts, 

Not that we thought of dying, 
But that we always like to rest, 

Unless the game is flying. 
Behind it stood our little force. 

None wished it to be greater, 
For evVy man was half a horse, 

And half an alligator. 

Oh Kentucky, &c. 

7 They did not let our patience tire, 

Before they show'd their faces; 
We did not choose to waste our fire, 

So snugly kept our places. 
But when so near we saw them wink, 

We thought it time to stop 'em, 
And 'twould have done you gocxl I think, 

To see Kentuckians drop 'em. 
Oh Kentucky, &c. 

8 They found, at last, 'twas vain to fight, 

Where lead was all the booty, 
And so they wisely took to flight, 

And left us all our beauty. 
And now, if danger e'er annoys, 

Remember what our trade is, 
Just send for us Kentucky boys, 

And we'll protect ye, ladies. 

Oh Kentucky, &c. 



429 



JACKSON 

On his walking trip from the Great Lakes to the Great Plains Franz Bickaby met this survivor 

of the years of the War with Mexico. 

AIT. A. G. W. 

Hb=a 




Jack - son is on sea, Jack - son is on shore, Jack-son's gone to 







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Mex - i - co to fight the hat - ties o'er. " Wel-come home, my Jack - son, oh, 



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wel-come home, " said she, Lust night my claught-er Ma- ry lay dream -ing of thee. 




1 Jackson is on sea, Jackson is on shore, 
Jackson's gone to Mexico to fight the battles o'er. 
"Welcome home, my Jackson, oh welcome home," said she, 
Last night my daughter Mary lay dreaming of thee. 



JACKSON 



2 " What news, Jackson ? " " Very poor, " says he. 
"I lost all my money while crossing the sea. 

Go bring your daughter Mary and get her down by me, 
We'll drown our melancholy and married we will be. " 

3 "Oh Mary's not at home, Jack, nor has not been to-day; 
And if she was at home, Jack, she would not let you stay. 
For Mary's very, very rich and you are very poor, 

And if she was at home, Jack, she'd show you the door. " 

4 Jackson bein' drowsy hung down his head, 
He called for a candle to light him off to bed. 

The l>eds are full of strangers, and have been so this week- 
And now for your lodging, poor Jack, you'll have to seek. 

5 Jack looked upon the strangers, upon them one and all, 
He looked upon the landlady and in reckoning he did call. 
Twenty shillings of the new and twenty of the old. 
W r ith this Jack pulled out his two hands full of gold. 

6 The sight of the money made the old woman rue: 
"Mary is at home, Jack, and shell return to you. 
I hope you're not in earnest, for I only spoke in jest. 
Without any exception she loves you the best. " 

7 Mary came downstairs with a smiling face, 
First a sweet kiss, then a fond embrace: 

"Oh, welcome home, my Jackson, oh welcome home, my dear. 
The big beds are empty and you shall lie there. " 

8 "Before I'd lie within your beds I'd lie within the street, 
For when I had no money, my lodging I must seek. 
But now I've plenty money I'll make the tavern hurl, 

A bottle of good brandy and on each arm a girl. " 



POOR KITTY POPCORN 

44 A tragic little ballad of the Civil War which we children cried over many times. I recall it 
only in fragments, the story of a cat that joined a regiment of soldiers marching south. She perished 
in the snow on the grave of the one to whom she had become most attached. " Thus the history of 
this verse from Neeta Marquis who as a girl grew up in Tennessee. 

Poor Kitty Popcorn, buried in a snow drift now! 
Never more we'll hear the music of her gladsome song, 

"Me-o-o-o-w!" 

Oh, she had a happy home beneath the Southern sky, 
But she packed her goods and left it when our troops came by, 
And she fell into the column with a low, glad cry, 

"Me-o-o-w!" 

431 



THERE WAS AN OLD SOLDIER 



A leading favorite of the Grand Army of the Republic, one of the healthiest survivors of the 
contest between the Blue and the Gray, and a widely known piece of American folk lore. 



Briskly 



ATT. R. C. 






H 



O there was an old sol-dier and he 




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had a wood-en leg, He had no to - bac - co but to - bac - co he could beg. An - 



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482 



THERE WAS AN OLD SOLDIER 



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old to - bac - co box. 



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1 O there was an old soldier and he had a wooden leg, 
He had no tobacco but tobacco he could beg. 
Another old soldier as sly as a fox, 

He always had tobacco in his old tobacco box. 

2 Said the ono old soldier, "Won't you give me a chew?" 
Said the other old soldier, "I'll be hanged if I do, 
Save up your pennies and put away your rocks, 

And you'll always have tobacco in your old tobacco box. " 

3 Well, the one old soldier was a fcelin* very bad, 
He says, "I'll get even, I will, begad!" 

He goes to a corner, takes a rifle from his peg, 

And stabs the other soldier with a splinter from his leg. 

4 There was an old hen and she had a wooden foot, 
And she made her nest by a mulberry root, 

And she laid more eggs than any hen on the farm; 
And another wooden foot wouldn't do her any harm. 




433 



A FILIPINO HOMBRE 

Soldiers and sailors of conquering races and nations, in all times, it seems, have had songs kidding 
the language, manners, and customs, of the invaded, subjugated, and pacified races and nations. . . . 
An old song with a Spanish tune opens with the lines, "I am a gay cavalierio, on my way to Rio De 
Janicrio. " Verses going to that tune arose out of the Spanish-American War and the campaign in 
the Philippine Islands, and they constitute the aong called A Filipino Hombre or The Philippine 
Family. The Book of Navy Songs says, "It was composed and first sung by the late Captain 
Lyman A. Cotten, U. S. N., about 1900, when Navy, Army and Marine Corps were busy 'pacifying' 
the newly acquired Philippines. " . . .It is a rough, gay fandango. All present may join in a 
shouted repeat of the last word of each verse. 



Alia 



Arr. A. G. W. 



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There was once a Fi - li - pi - no horn - bre .... 



Who ate rice pes - 




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434 



A FILIPINO II OMBRE 

1 There was once a Filipino hombre 5 Of ninos he had dos or tres, 

Who ate rice pescado y legumbre. Good types of the Tagalo race; 

His trousers were wide, and his shirt hung out- In dry or wet weather, in the altogether, 

And this, I may say, was costumbre. [side, They'd romp and they'd race and they'd chase. 



He lived in a nipa bahay 

Which served as a stable and sty; 

He slept on a mat with the dogs and the cat 

And the rest of the family near by. 



6 Su hermana fue lavandera, 
And slapped clothes in fuerte manera 
On a rock in a stream where the carabaos dream, 
Which gave them a perfume lijera. 



8 His daddy, un buen' Filipino 7 His brother, who was a cochero, 

Who never mixed tubig with bino, Buscare in Manila dinero; 

Said, " I am no insurrecto no got gun or bolo, " His prices were high when a cop was near by 
Yet used both to kill a vccino. To help scare the poor pasajero. 

4 His mujer once kept a tienda 8 He once owned a bulic manoc 

Underneath a large stone hacienda; With a haughty, valorous look 

She chewed buyo and sold for jawbone and gold Which lost him a name, y mil pesos tambien, 
To soldadcs who said, "No intienda. " So he changed to monte for luck. 

9 When his pueblo last had a fiesta 
His family tried to digest a 
Mule that had died of glanders inside 
And now his familia no esta. 

THE SERGEANT, HE IS THE WORST OF ALL 

The buck private's private opinion publicly expressed, and that ain't all. 



The ser - geant, the scr - geant he is the worst of all, . . He gets us up in the 












morn-ing be - fore the ear - ly call, With squads right, and squads left, and left front in to 



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line; Then the slim - y son of a gun, 



he gives us dou - ble time. 



The sergeant, the sergeant he is the worst of all, 
He gets us up in the morning before the early call, 
With squads right, and squads left, and left front into line; 
Then the slimy son of a gun, he gives us double tim<\ 



43$ 



WRAP ME UP IN MY TARPAULIN JACKET 

and 
TlfE HANDSOME YOUNG AIRMAN 

One of several in the R. W. Gordon collection, this version (A) is from Frank Haworth of the 
British Club, Havana, Cuba, while (B) is from Abbe Niles who comments on how landlubber songs 
often are in active duty on the high seas and vice versa. "Any living tune is a jack of all trades. 
This variant of Tarpaulin Jacket ten years ago on the flying fields was current among men who had 
never heard its original." 

Air. A. G. W. 
Moderate 



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Wrap me up in my tar - pau - lin jack - et And say a poor buff- er lies 




low, lies low; And six stal-wart lane - ers shall car-ry me . . . . With steps mourn-ful, 




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sol-onm, and slow. 



I know I shan't get to Heav-en, 



WRAP ME UP IN MY TARPAULIN JACKET 




And I don't want to go . . . be - low - ow - ow Oh, ain't there some 



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place in be - tween them .... Where this poor old buff-er can go? 




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Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket 
And say a poor buffer lies low, lies low; 
And six stalwart lancers shall carry me 
With steps mournful, solemn, and slow. 
I know I shan't get to Heaven, 
And I don't want to go below-ow-ow 
Oh, ain't there some place in between them 
Where this poor buffer can go? 



B 

A handsome young airman lay dying, 
And as on the airdrome he lay, 
To mechanics who 'round him came sighing 
These last parting words he did say: 
"Take the cylinders out of my kidneys, 
The connecting rods out of my brain, 
The crank-shaft out of my backbone, 
And assemble the engine again. " 




437 



A WAR BIRD'S BURLESQUE 

In that revealing and vivid diary of an unknown aviator "War Birds," we learn of a flyer whose 
father was a cotton mill owner and, as the diarist tells us, "There was a bomb raid on last night and 
the dugout was stuffy so he and I went out and crawled under a box car on the siding. It's about as 
good shelter as you can get. We got to talking about home. . . I asked him what he wanted to do. 
He said he wanted to write but his father is determined to make a horny-handed hardboiled superin- 
tendent out of him. He's all the time scribbling now. He's always stopping something important 
to jot down a plot, as he calls it, foi< future reference. He's got a brief case full of them already, 
plays, short stories, poems, sketches or what have you. He's tried to read me some of them several 
times." He lost one eye, was wounded, battered, made all sacrifices asked. In an interlude of the 
program of hell and death, he had an affair "with a very charming young lady who more or less 
owed allegiance to a big diplomat. We were all kidding him about it one night and after listening 
awhile he retired and penned a poem on the subject. ". . . Nine of the verses are presented here with 
the melody given them by Chicago overseas service men, Paul Boston and John Locke. 



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Rye, When a clas-sic Ves - tal Vir-gin caught his ed - u - cat - ed eye; "Ah, 




ha," he cried, en - rap- hired, "that's just a - bout my style, 




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hold the old come - hith - IT look, that makes the wild men wild!" 



1 A portly Roman Senator was sipping his Rock and Rye, 
When a classic Vestal Virgin caught his educated eye; 
"Ah, ha," he cried enraptured, "that's just about my style, 
Behold the old come-hither look, that makes the wild men wild. 

2 The old boy was no novice, for he'd served his time in Gaul, 
And he saw she was a chicken and the flapper pose a stall, 

So he flashed a roll of talents and she flashed him back a smile, 
And she shrugged her architecture in a manner to beguile. 



438 



A WAR BIRD'S BURLESQUE 

3 But he had to go to Naples, where some rents were overdue, 
While she lingered by the Tiber, complaining of the flu. 
And no great time elapsed ere the wise ones slyly winked, 

And they whispered "Habeas Corpus, " as their golden goblets clinked. 

4 For it was whispered at the banquets and told o'er games of cards, 
That a certain dashing Shavetail of Julius Caesar's Guards, 

Was bringing home the bacon, had a latchkey to the flat, 

Had soused himself in pre-war stock and was staging a terrible hat. 

5 He broke the records back to Rome and arrived with a terrible shout, 
But the Shavetail heard him on the stairs and escaped by the gutter spout, 
The Senator surveyed his flat, with bottles everywhere, 

And picked up some scattered plumage and bits of odd tinware. 

6 The lady wept in anguish, but he only mocked her cries, 

"I gave you rings for your fingers, now they're beneath your eyes." 
The sweet young thing was cagy, she'd exported his return, 
And she explained, "Semper fidelis, won't you ever learn! 

7 "Dear Caesar came to see me, said Pompey's getting hot, 
And the Legion's drilling badly and the Navy's gone to pot: 
So to stimulate recruiting, I've been flirting with this Wop." 

And she slipped her toga's shoulder strap, and displayed a fancy clock. 

8 His thoughts went back to Britain, and he stroked a scarred chin, 
Where an angry Celtic husband had expressed his deep chagrin. 
He recalled how his upright figure and the polish his armor bore, 
Had intrigued the Spanish maidens on that temperamental shore. 

9 And his anger soon abating, he replaced the truant strap, 
And she said, "Carpemus diem," as he gave her cheek a slap; 
He patted the tousled curly locks, that on his shoulder lay, 

And thought, "She's not hors de combat, 'tis part of an Officer's Pay." 




489 



HINKY DINKY, PARLEE-VOO 



Among the American Expeditionary Forces in Europe during the world war this was a high 
spot favorite, sung more often, perhaps, and with more verses, than any other song. ... It re- 
sembles an English pre-war song, and also an old American ditty, Snappoo Snappoo. 



Arr. A. G. W. 



Alia marria 



-i -- 1- 



Two Ger - man of - fi - cers crossed the Rhine, Par - - - lee - voo, 

staccato 



Two 



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Ger - man of - fi - cers crossed the Rhine, Par - - - lee - voo, 



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Ger - man of - fi - cers crossed the Rhine to kiss the wom-en and drink the wine, 




440 



HINKY DINKY, PARLEK-VOO! 



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Hin - ky din - ky, Par - - lee - - voo. 










1 Two German officers crossed the Rhine, parlee-voo, 
Two German officers crossed the Rhine, parlee-voo, 
Two German officers crossed the Rhine 

To kiss the women and drink the wine, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

2 "Oh farmer, have you a daughter fair, parlee-voo, 
Oh farmer, have you a daughter fair, parlee-voo, 
Oh farmer, have you a daughter fair 

Who can wash a soldier's underwear, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

8 Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle from Armentieres 
She ain't even heard of underwear, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

4 Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle from Armentieres, parlee-voo, 
If you never wash your underwear 

You'll never get the Croix de Guerre, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

5 Many and many a married man, parlee-voo, 
Many and many a married man, parlee-voo, 
Many and many a married man 

Wants to go back to France again, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

6 The captain he's carrying the pack, parlee-voo, 
The captain he's carrying the pack, parlee-voo, 
The captain he's carrying the pack, 

Hope to Lord it breaks his back, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

7 The officers get all the steak, parlee-voo, 
The officers get all the steak, parlee-voo, 
The officers get all the steak, 

And all we get is the belly-ache, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

441 



HINKY DINKY, PARLEY YOU! 

8 The M. P.s say they won the war, porlee-voo, 
The M. P.s say they won the war, parlee-voo, 
The M. P.s say they won the war 

Standing on guard at a cafe door, hinky dinky, partee-voo. 

9 The little marine in love with his nurse, parlee-voo. 
The little marine in love with his nurse, parlee-voo, 
The little marine in love with his nurse, 

He's taken her now for better or worse, hinky dinky, partee-voo. 

10 Mademoiselle all dressed in white, parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle all dressed in blue, parlee-voo, 
Mademoiselle all dressed in black, 

'Cause her little marine he didn't come back, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 

11 You might forget the gas and shell, parlee-voo, 
You might forget the gas and shell, parlee-voo, 
You might forget the gas and shell, 

You'll never forget the mademoiselle, hinky dinky, parlee-voo. 



WHERE THEY WERE 

This is a little tough on the Brass Hats but they are used to it. ... The text is from Harold and 
Verner Johnson of New York City. 



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If you want to know where the pri - vateswere, I'll tell you where they were, I'll 



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want to know where the pri - vates were, I'll tell you where they were: 

442 




WHERE THEY WERE 

CHORUS 



3 



* 



Up to their necks in mud, 



saw them, I saw 



them, 




J J 3 



Up to their necks in mud, I saw them, Up to their nooks in mud. 



1 If you want to know where the privates were, $ 

I'll tell you where they were, 
I'll tell you where they were, 

Yes, I'll tell you where they were; 
Oh, if you want to know where the privates were, 
111 tell you where they were: 
Up to their neoks in mud, 
I saw them, I saw them, 
Up to their neoks in mud, I saw them 
Up to their necks in mud. 

3 If you want to know where the captains were, 4 

I'll tell you where they were, 
I'll tell you where they were, 

Yes, I'll tell you where they were; 
Oh, if you want to know where the captains were, 
I'll tell you where they were: 
Drinking the privates* rum, 
I saw them, I saw them, 
Drinking the privates' rum, I saw them 
Drinking the privates' rum. 



If you want to know where the sergeants were, 

I'll tell you where they were, 
I'll tell you whore they wore, 

Yes, I'll tell you whore thoy were; 
Oh, if you want to know whore the sergeants 
I'll tell you where they were: [were, 

Clipping the old barbed-wiro, 

I saw them, I saw thorn, 
Clipping the old barbed-wire, I saw them 
Clipping the old barbed-wire. 

If you want to know where the officers were, 

I'll toll you where they were, 
I'll tell you where they were, 

Yes, I'll tell you where they were; 
Oh, if you want to know where the officers were, 
I'll tell you when; they wore: 
Down in their deop dugout, 
I saw them, I saw them, 
Down in their deep dugout, I saw them 
Down in their deep dugout. 



5 And if you want to know where the generals wore, 

1*11 toll you whore they wore, 
1*11 toll you whore thoy wore, 

Yes, I'll tell you where they wore; 
Oh, if you want to know whore the generals were, 
I'll tell you where they were: 
Back in gay Faroe, 

I saw them, I saw them, 
Back in gay Paree, I saw them 
Back in gay Paree. 



443 



THE HEARSE SONG 

Casualty records of the world war indicated in round numbers ten million dead and twenty 
million crippled. The Hearse Song was popular in all branches of service, though in the aviation 
corps it had more variants. The version (A) is from James Stevens, Irma H. Thrane and W. W. 
Woodbridge of Washington, while (B) is from Jake Zeitlin of Los Angeles and Fort Worth. 




j 



The old Grey Hearse goes roll-ing by, You don't know wheth-er to laugh or cry, For you 




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-^-*- 



know some day it - '11 get you too, And the hearse's next load may con - sist of you. 



1 The old Grey Hearse goes rolling by, 
You don't know whether to laugh or cry; 
For you know some day it'll get you too, 
And the hearse's next load may consist of you. 



B 

1 Did you ever think as the hearse rolls by 
That some of these days you must surely die? 
They'll take you away in a big black hack, 
They'll take you away but won't bring you 
back. 



2 They '11 take you out and they '11 lower you down, 2 The men with shovels stand all around. 
While men with shovels stand all a-round; They shovel you into that cold, wet ground. 

They'll throw in dirt and they'll throw in rocks, They shovel in dirt and they throw in rocks. 
And they won't give a dam-m-m if they break They don't give a dam if they break the box. 
the box. 

.8 The worms crawl in and the worms crawl out, 3 And your eyes drop out and your teeth fall in 
They crawl all over your chin and mouth, And the worms crawl over your mouth and chin ; 

They invite their friends and their friends' And the worms crawl out and the worms crawl 

friends too, in 

And you look like hell when they're through And your limbs drop off of you limb by limb. 
with you. 




444 



LOVELY PEOPLE 



HARMONIZATION BT PAOB 

MAN GOIN* ROUN' Hozd Fdman .... 447 

ALL NIGHT LONG Haztl Fdman .... 448 

ZEK'L WEEP Hazd Fdman .... 449 

i KNOW MOONLIGHT Hazd Fdman . . . .451 

BLIND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY Alfred 0. Wathall .... 45$ 

BY'M BY Marion Lychenheim . . . 458 

GO TO SLEEPY Maybelle Stith .... 454 

JUNGLE MAMMY SONG 455 

TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME . . . Ruth Crawford .... 456 

MY OLD HAMMAH Henry Francis Parks . . . 457 

CHARCOAL MAN Tltorvold Otierstrdm . . . 459 

THE WEAVER Alfred G. Waihatl .... 400 

THE COLORADO TRAIL Alfred G. Waiholl .... 46 

I MET HER IN THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRATIES GROW Alfred G. WdthdJl .... 4(13 

SOMEBODY Elizabeth Marshall . . . 404 

I DON'T WANT TO BE A GAMBLER 405 

WHEN POOR MARY CAME WANDERING HOME . . . Leo SoWCrby 400 



445 



Things in a picture must not have the appearance of being brought together by chance or for 
a. purpose, but must have a necessary and inevitable connection. 

I desire that the creations which I depict should have the air of being dedicated to their situ- 
ation, so that one could not imagine that they would dream of being anything else than what they 
are. A work of art ought to be all one piece, and the men and things in it should always be there 
for a reason. 

It were tetter that the things weakly said should not be said at all, because in the former case 
they are only, as it were, deflowered and spoiled. 

Beauty does not consist so much in the things represented, as in the need one has of express- 
ing them; and this need it is which creates the degree of force with which one acquits oneself of 
the work. One may say that everything is beautiful provided the thing turns up in its own proper 
time and in its own place; and contrariwise, that nothing can be beautiful arriving inappropriately 

Let Apollo be Apollo, and Socrates Socrates. 

Which is more beautiful, a straight tree or a crooked tree? 

Whichever is most in place. 

This then is my conclusion: The beautiful is that which is in place. 

JEAN FRANCOIS MILLET. 



446 



MAN COIN' ROUN' 



At first glance this may seem a whimsical reference to the census taker going from door to 
door and taking the names of all people without regard to sex, color, race, or previous condition of 
servitude. Then we come to the line, "an* he leave my heart in pain," and we know it is a more 
august and austere Enumerator than any employed in the transient and temporal governments 
of man. Each verse deals with a relative, mother, father, sister, brother, or other dear one, checked 
off from the list of the living. A true instance of the poetry "to be overheard ratlier than heard," 
it keeps for those of long acquaintance with it, an overtone of a reverie on the riddles of death 
and the frail permits by which any one generation walks before the mirrors of life. I heard it in 
Columbia, South Carolina, sung for a group including Julia Peterkin, Danny and Isadora Bennett 
Read, and Prof, and Mrs. Taylor in whose family Rebecca, the singer, was a servant since a child. 
Rebecca was far in years but had a young singing heart and a clear singing voice. She was bashful, 
hesitant, at times, about going on with the songs, giving a silvery chuckle with a sidewise turn of 
her head as she took up the lines of a new song. There were moments when I felt about this homely, 
rather slightly built, black woman, the strength of earth and the patience of large, slow-changing 
landscapes. 

Arr. II. F. 



There's a man go - in' roun' tak-in' names, There's a man go-in' roun' tak-in' names, An' he 






t=tTT~aI J JK i i. JJ=J^5 



took my mother' name, An' he leave my heart in pain, There's a man go-iu' roun' takin* names. 




-^- 



1 There's a man goin' roun* takin' names, 
There's a man goin f roun' takin' names. 
An' he took my mother' name, 
An* he leave my heart in pain, 
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names. 



There's a man goin' roun' takin' names, 
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names, 
An' he took my father* name. 
An' he leave my heart in pain, 
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names. 



3, 4, etc. Sister, brother, etc. 

447 



ALL NIGHT LONG 



This is the second of a trilogy from Rebecca Taylor. It comes speaking in parables joined 
to an air that is stately even though simple. 

Arr. H. F. 

Moderately Jat 




^P" 



nn 



^&=* 



@ 



Paul and Si - las, bound in jail, All nightlong One foh to sing an' de 








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m 



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Ped. * Pad. 




oth-ah foh to pray, All night long One foh to sing an* de oth-ah foh to pray, 



5 




^ 



Ped. * 



m 



i 



All night long. 



Do, Lawd, de- lib -bah po* me! 




Ped. * 



448 



ALL NIGHT LONG 

Straight up to heaven, straight right back, 8 Nebah seen de like since I ben born, 

All night long. All night long. 

Tain' but de one train on dis track, People keep comin' an* de train done gone, 

All night long. All night long. 

Tain' but de one train on dis track. People keep comin* an* de train done gone, 

All night long. All night long. 

Do, Lawd, delibbah po* me! Do, Lawd, delibbah po' me! 



ZEK'L WEEP 

This is the third number of the majestic trilogy from Rebecca Taylor. 



AIT. H. F. 



Zek-'l weep, Zek - '1 mo'n, Flesh come a-creep-in* off o* Zek - '1 bones; 




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Church, I know you go'n to miss me When I'm gone. 



When I'm 



JLJ 4 



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r 

449 



'T~r~r~T 



rrrr 



ZEICL WEEP 



3 



3 



gone, gone, gone, When I'm gone to come no mo*, 




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Cliurch, I know you go'n to miss me When I'm gone. 




r r 



1 Zek'l weep, Zek'l mo'n, 
Flesh come a-creepin* off o' Zek*l bones; 
Church, I know you go'n to miss me 

When Fin gone. 
When Fin gone, gone, gone, 
When I'm gone to come no mo', 
Church, I know you go'n to miss me 

When Fin gone. 



Star in the east, star in the west, 
Wish that star was in my breast, 
Church, I know you go'n to miss me 

When Fm gone. 
When I'm gone, gone, gone, 
When Fm gone to come no mo', 
Church, I know you go'n to miss me 

When I'm gone. 



3 Hush, little baby, don* you cry, 
Know that yo' mother done born to die, 
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me 

When I'm gone. 
When Fm gone, gone, gone, 
When Fm gone to come no mo', 
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me 

When Fm gone. 

450 



I KNOW MOONLIGHT 



An arrangement of lines from a slave day spiritual. 



Arr. H. F. 



5= 







I know 



moon - light, 



I know 



star - light, 




* 




ftp mf 



p p 





-n F * ^- 




- a - y this bod - y 



down. 




1 I know moonlight, 
I know starlight, 
I ky this body down. 



I walk in the moonlight, 
I walk in the .starlight, 
I lay this body down. 



3 I go to judgment 
In the evenin' of the day, 
When I ky this body down. 



451 



BLIND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY 

A brief story . . . compact in diction . . . useless to add or subtract words. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Moderate eon moto 









- 



m 



Blind man lay be - side the way, He could not see the 




mf) dole* ed ciprurivo 

I=s= 









light of day.. 



The Lord passed by and heard him say: "O 




r^niA-.. i^^_ 



53^ ^ ^ ^ _____^ 







Lord, won't you help - a me! 

&t 



O Lord, won't you help - a me!" 




BUND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY 



2 A man he died, was crucified, 
They hung a thief on either side; 
One lifted up his voice and cried: 
"O Lord, won't you help-a me! 
O Lord, won't you help-a me!" 



3 A blind man lay by the way and cried, 
*'O Lord, won't you help-a me." 
And the thief cried out before he died, 
"O Lord, won't you help-a me! 
O Lord, won't you help-a me!" 



BY'M BY 

The stealth and mystery of the coming out of the stars one by one on the night sky ... a 
fragment of a spiritual heard in Texas in the early 1880*s by Charley Thorpe of Santa Fe, 

Arr. M. L. 





V 


_j__ m 




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; j* ^ p j f> j 


Mfo *t ^Lt_\ 1 
By'm 


by, by'm 

j. jj| 


by, Stabs shin - in', 

I. ...J =zfa 


Num-bah, num-bah one, Num-bah 

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two, num-bah three, Good Lawd, by'm by, by'm by, Good Lawd, by'm by. 




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1 r 

By'm by, by'm by, 
Stahs shinin', 
Numbah, numbah one, 
Numbah two, numbah three, 
Good Lawd, by'm by, by'm by, 
Good Lawd, by'm by. 

453 



GO TO SLEEPY 



A traditional lullaby in the City of Athens, State of Georgia, as written, words, air, and har- 
monization by Maybelle Stith of that city and state. She commented, "In the left hand I tried 
to get the effect of a cradle rocking. It was rather difficult to indicate the time as it varies with 
the mood of the singer." 

Arr. M. S. 

Modentto - - 




^ 



Go to sleep - y, lit - tie ba - by, To' de boo-ger man ketch you. 





j_ 

a tempo, piu animate 



ri/. 




When you wake you'll have a piece of cake And a whole lot of lit - tie hors - es. 

i 






mf) a tempo, piu animate 



-a- 



a tempo, piu animato 



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When 


_ j _j_j J ,.j ahr-r . J- ^ j- * -^ = 

you wake you shall have a cake, coach and four lit - tie pon - ies. 
*> 


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tnjD a tempo, piu animato 


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454 




piuknto 



GO TO SLEEPY 

ril. == 



i 



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A black and a bay, and a dap-pie and a gray. Go to sleep -y, lit -tie ba - by. 




mf) 



=3= 



IF 






^fi 

Go to sleepy, little baby, 

To* de booger man ketch you. 

When you wake you'll have a piece of cake 

And a whole lot of little horses. 

Go to sleepy, little baby, 

To* de booger man ketch you. 

When you wake you shall have a cake, 

Coach and four little ponies, 

A black and a bay, and a dapple and a gray. 

Go to sleepy, little baby. 



JUNGLE MAMMY SONG 

Margaret Johnson of Augusta, Georgia, heard her mother sing this, year on year, as the mother 
had learned it from the singing, year on year, of a negro woman who comforted children with it. 
The source of its language may be French, Creole, Cherokee, or mixed. The syllables are easy 
for singing; so is the tune. It may be, as provisionally titled, a Jungle Mammy Song, in the sense 
that all mothers are primitive and earthy even though civilized and celestial. 




J J 



Ah yah, tair um bam, boo wah, Kee lay zee day, Nic o lay, mah 



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lun dee. Nic o lay ah pool a way, Nic o lay ah wah mee Ah 



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yah, tair um bam, boo wah, Kee lay zee day, Nic o lav. mah lun dee. 

455 



TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME 



This may be one of the many Po' Boy songs, carrying its own peculiar load of grief. Verse 
sometimes goes 

I went down to the railroad 
Where the big six- wheelers ran; 
I saw my woman sitting there 
In the arms of another man. 

And occasionally, for the sake of plot, these two verses are interspersed 

I stood on the street fcorner; 

It was shortly after dark; 

Along came a man with the woman I love, 

And I stabbed him through the heart. 

"Well, it's please, Mr. Judge, now please, Mr. Judge, 
It's what are you goin' to do with me? " 
He says, " If I find you guilty, dear boy, 
I'm goin' to send you to the penitentiary." 

Air. R. C. 



s 



=3- 

Ten thou-sand miles a - way from home And I 



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^ 



^ 



^ 



^ * 



don't e-ven know my name, For think-in' a - bout the wom-an I love, Ran a - 




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3 



456 



TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME 



i 



way with an - oth - er man. 




2 I went down to the old depot, 
The trains were a-pa&in' by; 

Looked through the bars, saw the woman I love, 
And I hung my head and cried. 

3 Standing on the street corner, 
And the girl I loved passed by; 

She shrugged her shoulder and passed me by, 
And I tucked my head and cried. 



MY OLD IIAMMAII 

The power and restraint of art and genius lurk in the lines and melody of this song from tht 
negro hard rock gangs of Georgia and Alabama. The air is to be freely rendered. It is strictly 
one with variations, glides, blue notes, as you choose at moments. It relates directly to an older 
piece known in the mountains as Swannanoa Town. Sharp and Campbell present a fine air and 
ten verses of the latter in "English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians/' of which thew 
are four specimen verses: 

When you hear my bull-dog barking, 
Somebody round, baby, somebody round. 

When you hear my pistol firing, 

Another man dead, baby, another man dead. 

Look for me till your eye runs water, 
I'll be at home, baby, I'll be at home. 

Don't you remember last December, 

The wind blowed cold, baby, the wind bio wed cold. 

In accompaniment Henry Francis Parks indicates, "The hammer stroke motive should quite 
predominate." 

457 



MY OLD HAMMAH 



Arr. H. F. P. 



jj ^ 



| 



My old ham-mah Shin-a like 



Languidly 



portn 




Introduction 



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porta 



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hi. 


. . Shin-a like 


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. . Yes, shin-a like 


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1 My old hatnmah 
Shinn like silvah, 
Shina like gol', 
Yes, shina like gol\ 

2 Dere ain* no hammoh 
Ina this old mountain, 
Shina like mine, 

Yes, shina like mine! 



3 This old haminah 
Kill my pahtnah, 
But it can't kill me, 
No, it can't kill me! 

4 I ben a-workin', 

Ona this hyer railroad, 
Fo* long year, boys, 
Yes, fo' long year! 



5 next winter 
Be so col', 
Be so col\ 
Yes, be so col*! 

458 



CHAHCOAL MAN 



Once the comment was heard on this, "It is a delicate imprint on a field of silence." ... An 
old man selling charcoal used to proclaim himself to the residents of Springfield, Missouri, with this 
morning cry. ... I notated it, hazardously, from the singing of a faculty member of the state 
teachers' college at Greeley, Colorado. She came from Missouri. 

Arr. Th. O. 
Slowly 



P 



O - o - o - oh, lil f man, 



Go get yo* 



> . , 



4 4 



^U-ii im 



* 



J f--. . 



=<=E=g3 



pan; 



Tell -a 



yo' mnm Hych come clc choh-coal man - 







" '' 



i 



r 1 - 



n - n - 



n. Chah-coal! 



^ 



m 










w 



O-o-o-oh, lil* man, 
Go get yo' pan; 
Tell -a yo' mam 

Hyeh come de chahcoal man-n-n-n. 
Chahcoal! 

459 



THE WEAVER 



A variant of Foggy Foggy Dew, or I Am A Bachelor, a song that stands against time and weather 
tells a short-spoken story and ends with no more to say. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Moderate con tipret$ione 



* 






m 






I was a bach -e- lor, I lived by my-self, I worked at the weav-er's 




fei 









trade; The on - ly tiling I did that was wrong Was to woo a pret-ty 




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sostcnuto^ 



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maid. 



I wooed her in the sum - mer time And in the win - ter, too; And 





i 



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460 



THE WEAVER 




all night long I held her in my arms, Just to shield her from the foggy, foggy dew. 




1 I was a bachelor, I lived by myself, 
I worked at the weaver's trade; 
The only thing I did that was wrong 
Was to woo a pretty maid. 
I wooed her in the summer-time 
And in the winter, too; 
And all night long I held her in my arms, 
Just to shield her from the foggy, foggy dew. 

I am a bachelor, I live with my son; 
We work at the weaver's trade; 
And ev'ry single time I look into his eyes 
He reminds me of the fair young maid. 
He reminds me of the winter-time 
And of the summer, too; 

And the many, many times that I held her in my arms,, 
Just to shield her from the foggy, foggy dew. 



461 



THE COLORADO TRAIL 



A boss wrangler brought a car of ponies to Duluth, Minnesota. The next day, after brave 
stunt riding, he was laid in a hospital bed with "ruptures on both sides." He told the surgeon 
Dr. T. L. Chapman, in a soft, forgiving voice, "That was a terribly bad hoss not only throwed 
me, but he trompled me." Out of past years this rider had, Dr. Chapman's examination disclosed, 
"bones of both upper and lower legs broken, fractures of collar bone on both sides, numerous frac- 
tures of both arms and wrists, and many scars from lacerations and tramplings, the bones knit any 
way that God and Nature let them heal." As his strength came back he sang across the hospital 
ward in a mellowed tenor voice. And they always called for more. One song was The Colorado 
Trail remembered by Dr. Chapman as here set down. 



AIT. A. G. W. 



Modernto; motto ctprrmrivo 




- fr^-ft-jL-icit-i , '__ v , | N h ft J> a h i i 
^^Ei&^s^^^-yglZI^J^J^^-^^JLLJ j. N 7^ 



Eyes like the morning star, Cheek like a rose, Lau-ra was a pret-ty girl, God Almighty knows. 








gr^'V;jiU/^ffl 



Weep, all ye lit-tlc rains, Wail, winds, wail, All a-long, a-long, a-longTheCol-or-a-do trail. 




1 Eyes like the morning star, 

Cheek like a rose, 
Laura was a pretty girl, 
God Almighty knows. 



Weep, all ye little rains, 
Wail, winds, wail, 

All along, along, along 
The Colorado trail. 



463 



I MET HER IN THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRATIES GROW 



A quizzical, round-the-corner laughter at trouble that started where the potato blossoms grow. 
C. W. Loutzenhiser, the old railroad man of Chicago, who as a boy traveled with his father's circus, 
said he often sang this with an Irish girl, and the both of them used to wonder as the years went 
by, why they met only this one verse. 

Arr. A. G. W. 



m 



* 



O, have ye been in love, me boys, And have ye felt the pain? I'd rath - cr be in 



^ 





mf 



r 



m 



3 



m 



3 



y=f- 



^ 







jail, me boys, Than be in love a -gain; O, I met her in the morn - in', And I'll, 




have yez all to know That I met her in the gar - den Where the pra-ties grow. 




O, have ye been in love, me boys, 
And have ye felt the pain? 
I'd rather be hi jail, me boys, 
Than be in love again; 
0, 1 met her in the mornin* 
And I'll have yez all to kn6w 
That I met her in the garden 
Where the praties grow. 

469 



SOMEBODY 



A fugitive little lyric heard by Edwin Ford Piper from the singing of his pioneer mother in the 
1880's on a farm near Auburn, Nebraska. ... At the University of Virginia, a lad from near Lynch- 
burg, Virginia, said he had heard it from old people and it had been sung roundabout that neigh- 
borhood a long time. 

Arr. E. M. 



Some - bod-y's tall and hand -some,. 




rrM: 






Some - bod-y's brave and true. 




J * * \ * LJ LJ t * i 



== 



Some 



bod - y's hair 



is ver 



y fair, 




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1 '*1U 



464 



SOMEBODY 



WH J 


^ 





^ j 




J2= 


" H 



Some 



bod - y's eyes 



are blue. 



m 



s 



" f 



F a " T-1 


IT^"^ 


3 *-t 


t* 


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1 Somebody's tall and handsome, 
Somebody's brave and true. 
Somebody's hair is very fair, 
Somebody's eyes are blue. 



2 Somebody comes to see me, 
Somebody came last night. 
Somebody asked me to marry him, 
'Course I said, "All right." 



I DON'T WANT TO BE A GAMBLER 



J I J -4 

T *~ ^==^ 

- 



fi 

9 - 9 



1. Oh, I don't want to be a gam -bier, An* I'll tell you the rca - son why: 
M Cnoaus 






\ 






My Lord sit - tin* in his King-dom, Got his eyes on me, God got his eyes on 



.j j i . 



i 



^^ 



me, God got his eyes on me, My Lord sit-tin' in his Kingdom, Got his eyes on me. 

2 Oh, I don't want to be a liar, 
An' I'll tell you the reason why: Chorus. 

8 Oh, I don't want to be a drunkard, 
An* I'll tell you the reason why: Chorus. 



465 



WHEN POOR MARY CAME WANDERING HOME 

Thw too was heard from Scnour at Indiana University on the evening told of in the note to 
"Who Will Shoe Your Pretty Little Foot?" It is a fragment, a little make-over, from the mawkish 
popular song, "Mary of the Wild Moor." The mother of Senour sang it often. A wisp of melody, 

it is, five brief lines as implicative as a Chinese poem. 

L. S. 



LLtfL * * -4- J 1 Ji -j*_ 


1 j -r pi -j* j 


&?4~ v~-~- * --* * J * 


_J E J * _ J 


It was on a cold win - ter's night When poor 


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LilMMMMj ***" *^ 






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H 


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r^H? 1 





J.J - 

* 



Ma - ry came wan - der - ing home. And the watch -dog did howl, And the 




vil - lagc bell did toll, And the wind blew a - cross the wild moor. 

_ J _! J__J J 1 L 




It was on a cold winter's night 

When poor Mary came wandering home. 

And the watch-dog did howl, 

And the village bell did toll, 

And the wind blew across the wild moor. 



466 



ROAD TO HEAVEN 



JESUS, WON'T YOU COME B'M-BY? 

DESE BONES GWINE TO RISE AGAIN . 

TWO WHITE HORSES 

WAY OVER IN THE NEW BURYIN* GROUN* . 
MARY WORE THREE LINKS OF CHAIN 

PHARAOH'S ARMY GOT DROWNDKD 

GOOD-BYE BROTHER 

GOD'S GOIN' TO SET THIS WORLD ON FIRE 

AIN* GO'N* TO STUDY WAR NO MO* 

THINGS I USED TO DO 

IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE . 

STANDIN* ON THE WALLS OF ZION 

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO . 

YOU GOT TO CROSS IT FOH YOHHELF . 

I GOT A LETTER FROM JESUS 

ECEKIEL, YOU AND ME 



HARMONIZATION BY 

Charles FanceU Ed son 
Hilbert G. Stewart . 
Alfred 0. Wathall . 
Alfred G. Watliall . 
Leo Sower by . 
Leo Soircrby . 

Leo Sowcrby . 
Leo Sotrerby . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 
Leo Sourrby . 
Hazel F elm an 
Alfred G. Waihall . 
Alfred . Wathnll . 
Alfred G. Wathall . 



PAQB 

469 
470 
47S 
478 
474 
476 
477 
478 
480 
482 
483 
484 
485 
486 
487 
48S 



467 



JESUS, WON'T YOU COME B'M-BY? 

One of the lasting creations of the negro of slave days. 



Arr. C. F. E. 




-lJ- J 1 - Jt 



You ride dat horse, you call him Macadoni ; Jesus, won't you come b'm- 



7T1ZIZ7 ^f^ "~~" ' v r._* n n 



-J 1 J 




by? You ride him in demornin'And you ride him in dc eve-nin'; Jesus, won *t you come b'm- 



f 







TIT ~~r rzjrriimrm 




^ 



by? De Lord knows de world's gwine to end up, Jesus, won't you come b'm-by ? De by? 

r i r-a- 



=3t 





^^ 



You ride dat horse, 
You call him Macadoni; 
Jesus, won't you come b'm-by? 
You ride him in de mornin' 
And you ride him in de evening 



Jesus, won't you come b'm-by? 

De Lord knows de world's gwine to end up, 

Jesus, won't you come b'm-by? 

De Lord knows de world's gwine to end up, 

Jesus, won't you come b'm-by? 

460 



DESE BONES GWINE TO RISE AGAIN 



A retold story of the First Man, the First Woman, and the events of their Paradise Lost. It 
is cornic, paradoxical, mystic, in the manner of some of the tumultuous imagery hurled forth from 
"God's Trombones" as written by James Weldon Johnson. Two or three generations of white 
j>eople have cherished this creation of the Dark Brother. I have heard it in cities and on farms, 
in factories and pitching hay. For assistance in the text we are indebted to Lloyd Lewis, the 
Free Quaker. The harmonization is by Hilbert G. Stewart, a young colored composer, of Chicago. 

Air. H. G. S. 



m 



IP 



Lord, he thought he'd make a man, 



Dese bones gwine to rise a - gain; 




i J=FF 

tZs .. .. 7m~ '. [ ^j 

& f *f3~ 



rHK- y ^p 



^ 



f 



=w== 



r 



=MM!=^>|j^=feai 



^:=pc=: 



Made him out of mud and a lit - tie bit of sand, Dese bones gwine to rise a - gain. 



^-aLzr:.Tir..j::' ~\ 1 1-"~. j " - J 



3 



rri^-Ud 







HRPRAIN. Irniito 




I know it, Mood I know it, Dese bones gwine to rise a - gain. 




470 



DESE BONES GWINE TO RISE AGAIN 



I Lord, he thought he'd make a man, 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Made him out of mud and a little bit of sand, 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

Refrain: 

1 know it, 'deed I know it, 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

fc "Adam, Adam, where art thou?" 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
"Here, Marsc Lord, I'se comin* down." 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

5 Thought he'd make a woman too; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Didn't know "xactly what to do. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

4 Took a rib from Adam's side; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Made Miss Eve for to be his bride. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

5 Put 'em in a garden rich an' fair; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Tole Vrn to eat what they found dere. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

G To one tall tree dey mus* not go; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Dere mus* de fruit forever grow. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

7 OF Miss Eve come a-walkin* roun'; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Spied dat tree all loaded down. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

8 Sarpent he came roun* de trunk. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
At Miss Eve his eye he wunk. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 



9 Firs* she took a little pull; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Den she filled her apron full. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

10 Adam he come prowlin' roun'; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Spied dem peelin's on de groun*. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

11 Den he took a little slice; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Smack his lips an* said 'twas nice. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

12 Lord, he spoke with a mighty voice. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Shook de heavens to dc joists. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

13 "Adam! Adam! Where ane thou?" 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 

44 Yes, Marse Lord, I'se a-comin* now." 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

14 "You et my apples, I believe?" 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
"Not me, Lord, but I 'spec 'twas Eve/ 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

15 Lord den rose up in his wrath; 
Dese bones gwine to rise again; 
Tole 'em beat it down de path. 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

16 "Out of my garden you mus' git/* 
Dese bones gwine to rise again, 
"For you an' me has got to quit." 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 

Refrain: 

I know it, 'deed I know it, 
Dese bones gwine to rise again. 



471 



TWO WHITE HORSES 



The white horses go in a sort of hoof -beat time; the "rassling" of Zekl with sin is swift and 
dexterous, as also is his entrance into "heb'n. " It is one of the gayer and more accelerated spirituals, 
and was heard by Dr. Ernest Horn, head of the College of Education, University of Iowa, when a 

boy in Missouri. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Moderate . >, 



* 



-* * *- 



Two white hors-es, two white hors-es, Side by 



mf) Accentuate tempre 

' 




feia^E 
;rj .-ztrEr: 



f=f=nnrr 



Staccato 



* 



=39 



side; 



Two white hors-es, two while hors-es, Side by side: 







Two white 




^^^ 






D.C. 



i 



hors-es, two white hors-es. Side by side; No bod-y can ride, but thesanc-ti-fied. 








9*99. 




D.C. 



TWO WHITE HORSES 



Daniel was a man, Daniel was a man, 

In de lion's den; 

Daniel was a man, Daniel was a man, 

In de lion's den; 

Daniel was a man, Daniel was a man, 

In de lion's den; 

De good Lawd proved to be Daniel's frien'. 



3 Zek'l was a man, Zek'l was a man, 
And he rassled wid sin; 
Zek'l was a man, Zek'l was a man, 
And he rassled wid sin; 
Zek'l was a man, Zek'l was a man, 
And he rassled wid sin; 
Heb'n gate opened, and he rolled right in. 



WAY OVER IN THE NEW BURYIN' GROUN' 

This negro spiritual to be heard on the coast of Georgia is from a series of negro spirituals re- 
corded on phonograph cylinders for the extensive collection of R. W. Gordon. The time of it goes 
a little as though one heard a distinct hammering of curious incessancy. 



Arr. A. G. W. 



Con moto 




The hammer keeps a-ring-in' on some-bod - y's cof - fin, The hammer keeps a ring-in* on 




:qr 



r^=r=:q- 






= 



=^E=E^ 



::-- 



rit. 



^EE 



^ 



some -bod - y's cof - fin, Way o - vcr in the new bur - yin* groun*. 




poco f 



3E2 



rit. 








-M L 



Somebody's dying way over yonder, 
Somebody's dying way over yonder, 
Way over in the new buryin' groun'. 

473 



MARY WORE THREE LINKS OF CHAIN 



One of the sublime creations of the negro race in America. . 
tinted with shadings of the light that never was on land or sea. . 
"woh," and so on. 



mystic, simple, poetic, elusive, 
. ."I'm" is "Ahm," "wore" is 

Arr. L. S. 



Ma - ry wore three links of chain,. 




& 



Ma-ry 




pf~T 



Ljferi 






E^ 



wore three links of chain,. 



Ma - ry wore three links of 




E^E^^EE^iSSi 



T 











chain, Ev - 'ry link bear -in* Je - sus* name; All my sins been tak- en a -way,. 




474 



MARY WORE THREE LINKS OF CHAIN 



i 




tak - en a - way. 



i 
i 



i 



2 Mary weeped and Martha mourned, 
Mary weej>ed and Martha mourned, 
Mary weeped and Martha mourned, 
Gabriel stood and bio wed his horn; 
All my sins been taken away, taken away. 

8 I don't know but I've been told, 
I don't know but I've been told, 
I don't know but I've been told, 
The streets in heaven are paved with gold; 
All my sins been taken away, taken away. 

4 Can't you hear dem horses' feet? 
Can't you hear dem horses' feet? 
Can't you hear dem horses' feet 
Slippin' and slidin* on de golden street? 
All my sins been taken away, taken away. 

5 My feet got wet in de midnight dew, 
My feet got wet in de midnight dew, 
My feet got wet in de midnight dew, 
An* de mornin' star was a witness too; 
All my sins been taken away, taken away. 

6 I'm go'n home on de mornin' train, 
I'm go'n home on de mornin' train, 
I'm go'n home on de mornin' train, 
All don't see me go'n to hear me sing: 
All my sina been taken away, taken away. 



475 



PHARAOH'S ARMY GOT DROWNDED 



Arr. L. S. 



Slowly 



If I could I sure - ly would Stan' on de rock where Mos-es stood, Pharaoh's 





i 






if 



tt=W- 



-4- -4: -i I f- | 

""w - --* -- | -4- -^ti ^ ~~^ 

u ^-^ , 1 - 9 ^^x v 



i i 



^3=& 



* ?' T: :p f : 



fL 



JT FL 





IJ7- 




4- 



ar - my got drown-fled. O Ma - ry, don' you weep, don" you rao'n 

|-~ 



,&*-* -^' -+-f^L 
chrr.rtr ~TT "t--'u-^tr*~ 


:^^:^jii,;- ^n 


-P, 11 , if^^m .a,, * 


" s: i 1 i 
hT-P ^* * J - 


Vl7 t " ^ i^ 

T 


tV -Jr "w I pr-i i ^ ^ * w \? * 


Ma - ry,... don' you weep, don' you mo'n, Ma - ry, don' you weep, don' you mo'n,Pharaoh's 


~e~b 1 j 


i 1 L I I i 




. ...^i ...-.- ^i 


^i 


j^ ^4 '' 


wwr^i~- 


-&1 \ Z ' 


LJ 1 LM 1 




^ 






476 



PHARAOH'S ARMY GOT DROWNDED 



f 



ar - my got drown-ded. O Ma - ry,. . . . don 'you weep, don' you mo'n! 




1 If I could I surely would 
Stan* on de rock where Moses stood. 
Pharaoh's array got drownded, 
O Mary, don* you weep, don* you mo'n. 
O Mary, don* you weep, don' you mo'n. 
O Mary, don' you weep, don* you mo'n. 
Pharaoh's army got drownded. 
O Mary, don' you weep, don* you mo'n. 



Some o' these nights about twelve o'clock 

Dis oP worP gwine to reel an* rock. 

Pharaoh's army got drownded, 

O Mary, don' you weep, don' you mo'n. 

O Mary, don' you weep, don' you mo'n. 

O Mary, don' you weop, don' you mo'n. 

Pharaoh's army got drowndcd. 

O Mary, don' you weep, don* you mo'n. 



GOOD-BYE, BROTHER 



J J 3 L -H^^E^=g 



^ 



Good-bye, broth-er, good-bye, broth -er, If I don't see you more; 







Now God bless you, now God bless you, If I don't see you more. 



2 We part in de body, but we meet in de spirit, 
If I don't see you more; 

We'll meet in de heaben, in de blessed kingdom, 
If I don't see you more. 

8 So good-bye brother, good-bye sister, 
If I don't see you more; 
Now God bless you, now God bless you, 
If I don't see you more. 



477 



GOD'S COIN 1 TO SET THIS WORLD ON FIRE 



The I. W. W. (Industrial Workers of the World) nailed the word "Solidarity" high and issued 
a call for "One Big Union." It shouted, "Workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose 
but your chains. You have a world to win." Those with red cards of membership were " wob- 
blies." They belonged in "jungles," camps and hobo hangouts near railroads. They were out- 
laws, gypsies, vags. Several times they wrecked jails, tore the doors off hinges, twisted the bars, 
spoiled the plumbing, and defied all law and government. While in jail they often made the walls 
ring with a negro spiritual given here. Their favorite verse was "God's Goin' to Set This World 
on Fire." It suggests Fire wrecking the world as the I. W. W.'s wrecked jails . . . The text B 
l>elow is from Arthur Billings Hunt of Brooklyn, New York, who heard it from a group of negroes 
in a Virginia farm house five years ago, 

AIT. L. S. 




:EfEfe^ 






God' 



goin' to set this world on fire, . 



TStl 






God's 



in' to 



az---.--E f ia-S-~3r_i 
rt^=^-*> F 




set this world on fire, One o' these days! 

!j^S=E=^ 



God's goin' to 




IZFS-^iZ 

I e? .:- -' 




set this world on fire, 



One o* these ays! 




478 



GOD'S GOW TO SET THIS WORLD ON FIRE 

A 

1 God's goin* to set this world on fire, 
God's goin' to set this world on fire, 
One o' these days! 

God's goin' to set this world on fire, 
One o" these days! 

2 I'm goin' to walk an* talk with Jesus, 
I'm goin' to walk an* talk with Jesus, 
One o' these days! 

I'm goin' to walk an' talk with Jesus, 
One o' these days! 

3 I'm goin' to climb up Jacob's ladder, 
I'm goin* to climb up Jacob's ladder, 
One o' these days! 

I'm goin' to climb up Jacob's ladder, 
One o' these days! 

4 All you sinners gonna turn up missing, 
All you sinners gonna turn up missing, 
One o' these days! 

All you sinners gonna turn up missing, 
One o' these days! 



B 

1 God don't want no coward soldiers, 
God don't want no coward soldiers, 

Some o' these days. 
He wants valiant hearted soldiers 
Some o' these days. 

2 We arc clirnbin' Jacob's ladder, 
We arc climbin' Jacob's ladder, 

Some o' these days. 
Every round goes higher and higher, 
Some o' these days. 




479 



AIN' GO'N' TO STUDY WAR NO MO' 



Among spirituals used by negroes as work songs this is to be mentioned. "They sing it by the 
hour," fttudents at the University of Alabama told me, referring to "Am' GoV to Study War No 
MoV As they go on, hour by hour, they bring in lines from many other spirituals. The tempo 
is vital, never actually monotonous, never ecstatic, yet steady in its onflow, sure of its pulses. It is 
a work song-spiritual. War is pronounced "wah" or "waw" as if to rhyme with "saw." Horse 
is "hawsH." And so on with negro economy of vocables in speech and song. 

Arr. L. S. 



^ 1 H*t^ ^"-33^-=3F=z=* 



:^rt:-.-_-J;:J:: 



^ 



^E 



ifcc 



-* * 



ipi 



I'm go'n' to lay down my sword and shield, I'm go'n' to lay down 



*e 



'n 



5 f " f 

"i|-.-~7Zj^: 



S 






-J.- 



: r 



^ 



u^- 



:g^rr^g=y 



-|TJ^=zj^j^rj^:^^=J 
: r' , zr iz^3 



my sword and shield, Down by de rib - her - side, down by de rib -ber- side, 






: 



. 



i 




:EEE 



J=q= 



I'm go'n* to lay down my sword and shield. I ain' go'n' to stu - dy war no mo', 






f 




r 



d ^1. J J _ | 



r 



480 



ADT GO'N' TO STUDY WAR NO MO* 



JfVy> f f f f f f"*~ "f T f f ~P F p ar ITU: TT :ir~ 


. ..jp B j 


)*? u u u u u r E f P i f (: p -giz^-p=p- 

I ain' go V to stu-dy war no mo', I ain* go'n' to stu-dy war no 


-f ^-H 

mo', I 


I i 1 J ! 1 


"l 


' Jl . K p ^ ^ Qj ^^^ f"S "54*?" '~ ^* 




&]|"j? < Sr 3 - S c^? - - 1 25 ^^ _ ,_) c/^ 


g . .] 


y 2 x F- f* r * r * r * r * r 


x r 


i i ! J <J J J 


1 . 


|5&-t&-*j. - . a*- - -U?* 1 - -J4-/3" _ ~ . -'. .-.rt?%a-_--.-;: 


~ ~ _^ j 




.'..-.. . ".Tr.-.:-/ 1 


-^T -^T 




ty . C D ^ 1 


-n 




.-_ |] 


\y i i^ w i^ i 

ain' go'n' to stu - dy war no mo'. 




/Pb^k rJ " ^ j.......... _^ -- .|_. .. . ... . 


-E^" H 


* r * f *T ?f ^ x f ^ x ; 


-^ 


^!_^.^. ^j ^^ .. G*> I _ ,-r^ -I ,,^)^ 


**> I! 


V^p^ 1 _ 1 1 ~ - - ~ - | .. - 


11 


"""""" L^- r ,L- j_^^ 

o- r r- 


- x Sz 



1 Pm go'n* to lay down my sword and shield, I'm go'n' to lay down my sword and shield, 
Down by dc ribber-side, down by de ribber-side, I'm go'n' to lay down my sword and shield. 

I ain' go'n' to study war no mo', I ain' go'n* to study war no mo', 
I ain' go'n' to study war no mo', I ain' go'n' to study war no mo'. 

2 I'm go'n' to ride on a milk-white horse, I'm go'n' to ride on a milk-white horse, 

Down by de ribber-side, down by de ribber-side, I'm go'n' to ride on a milk-white horse. 
I ain' go'n' to study war no mo', I ain' go'n' to study war no mo', 
I ain' go'n' to study war no mo', I ain' go'n' to study war no mo*. 

8 I'm go'n' to wear a starry crown, I'm go'n' to wear a starry crown, 

Down by de ribber-side, down by de ribber-side, I'm go'n' to wear a starry crown. 

4 I'm go'n' to wear a snow-white robe, I'm go'n' to wear a snow-white robe, 

Down by de ribber-side, down by de ribber-side, I'm go'n' to wear a snow-white robe. 

5 I'm go'n* to ride with my King Jesus, I'm go'n' to ride with my King Jesus, 
Down by de ribber-side, down by de ribber-side, I'm go'n' to ride with my King Jesus. 

481 



THINGS I USED TO DO 

Texas camp meetings have heard these testimonies of an old way of life abandoned and a new 
one adopted. Aw A r w 

AJT f\ VJT. YT . 

M oderalo, U tempo molto rubato MMmt a tempo 



jPlmu J ^f fcr^M- 


K iir~ K ;.* , ^ 


'- ^7 Jt J " 


UhliLJ^fc j: *b J*-+~3 
Things I used to do 


>|^,....J,r J~ .J -^ 

I don't do no mo', '. 

*.~!" ,.,. .,, 4 -* 


-JLj: J -2 J!__ 
flings I used to do 


tT" -gr 

mf Colla voce 


^^ ... , ,- .-,=,^4 ti 

^y ^ . ~ 


~izr 

/ 


STrfTttuS 5? F 


-^<^ 1^ 

_L^: -tp. _ 


Fife 1 


S^JI^ 


-fe b> * 

J^ ^__^ 34 1 ! 






acr.fl. 



n tempo 



I don't do no mo', Things I used to do I don't do no mo', 





accrl. 



rit. 



There's been a great * change since I been bohn. 




i 



IK 



^^j: 



I 



Chickens I used to steal, I don't steal no mo', (3 times) 
There's been a great change since I been bohn. 

3 Whisky I used to drink, I don't drink no mo', (3 time*) 
There's been a great change since I been bohn. 

48* 



IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE 



This spiritual comes from negroes of Fort Worth, Texas, through the medium of Jake Zeitlin, 
a poet who used to send me each year a horned toad from the Great Staked Plains. The list of 
v occupations named in these verses can be extended according to desire or whim. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

(Spoken) ^ 




There ain' no li - ars there In my Fa - ther's house; 



There 



< f=f=f=^_ 



* 






ain' no li - ars there In my Fa - ther's house. 

4jg: 



Ain' no li - ars there, 



j~^~~^ : 






] -zrrr,".' fP j 

i -,,-_ ~>~< --in^ ~j 



3 



In my Fa - ther's house; 



O there's peace, peace, ev - 'ry - where! 



2 There ain' no crapshooters there In my Father's house. (3 times] 
O there's peace, peace, everywhere ! 

3 There ain* no cardplayers there In my Father's house. (3 times) 
O there's peace, peace, ev'ry where! 

483 



STANDIN' ON THE WALLS OF ZION 

The barber shop harmonizers of midwest towns used to make up their own melodies and then 
mix in the words. In Galcsburg, boys from the Q. railroad shops, from Colton's foundry and the 
Purington brickyards, would meet in front of Brown's hotel or the Union hotel, practice with their 
voices as they strolled off Main Street, and then make the rounds of the ice-cream "sociables" held 
by various churches on a summer evening. Some boys would find the girls they were looking for. 
Others stayed with the bunch and sang. One of the favorite pieces, about the time of the Chicago 

anarchist case, was this white man's spiritual. 

Arr. L. S. 




i 



Then it's a hoo - raw, and a hoo - raw, Thru the 




mer - ry green fields,hoo - raw! 

. 
-* 



{,&--: 




' 3? \1Sfr 




Stand-in' on thcwiills of Zi - on, Zi -on, S'c my ship come sail - in', sail - in', 





Stand-in' on the walls of Zi - on, See my ship come sail - in' home. . . . 





@?i^= 






i 



Then it's a hooraw, and a hooraw, 
Thru the merry green fields, hooraw! 
Standin* on the walls of Zion, Zion, 
See my ship come sailin', sailin', 
Standin' on the walls of Zion, 
See my ship come sailin' home. 



484 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO 



The high and prolonged declaration of a heart wanting to be home, having been away so long* 
yet it has a sea health. Wilbert Snow, the Maine poet who sailed before the mast when young and 
husky, knew this as a windlass song. ... Air and accompaniment run without strict regard to 
rhythm. ... as a meditation. . . . and of varied pulses. 



With deliberation 



Arr. H. P. 






3fc=* 



A hun-dred years is a vc-rylong time, Oh, 



yes! oh, 




P 





(con Sri tempre) 






hun-dred years is a ve - ry long time, A hun-dred years a - go. 









1 A hundred years is a very long time, 

Oh, yes, oh. 

A hundred years is a very long time, 
A hundred years ago. 



A hundred years have passed and gone, 

Oh, yes, oh. 
A hundred years have passed and gone, 

A hundred years ago. 



3 A hundred years will come once more, 

Oh, yes, oh. 

A hundred years will come once more, 
A hundred years ago. 



YOU GOT TO CROSS IT FOH YOHSELF 



This spiritual from the negroes of Texas, is a contemplation, a prayer, and an outcry. 

AIT. A. G. W. 

Tempo rubaln 




You got to cross that Riv-er Jor - dan, You got to cross it . 

*b " ^ 



foh yoh -self; 



m/^ Cotta voce 



JM 5 






E 



p 



/is 
3. 



irr4?L_tir 



^?; 



::f* . ij . *-& 
^::^-.-_^.-^ 



O there cuin't no-hod-y cross it foh you; You got to cross it.... foh yoh-self, 



._; -> ^ 

?:lt^j( 




ES 

/TV 

TS 1 







s^ 

Cain't yoh bro-thah cross it foh you, You got to cross it foh yoh - self. 




rr\ 






i 



1 You got to cross that River Jordan, 
You got to cross it foh yohself ; 
O there cain't nobody cross it foh you; 
You got to cross it foh yohself, 
Cain't yoh brothah cross it foh you, 
You got to cross it foh yohself. 



You got to stand that test of judgment, 
You got to stand it foh yohself; 
O there cain't nobody stand it foh you; 
You got to stand it foh yohself, 
Cain't yoh pahson stand it foh you, 
You got to stand it foh yohself. 



48* 



I GOT A LETTER FROM JESUS 



This may be heard on Lang Syne Plantation, Fort Motte, South Carolina. It is sometimes 
sung by sinners or worldly negroes to persuade church members that they too shall receive salvation 
at the Throne of Grace. 




Arr. A. G. W. 



mf) Modrrato 



r j r r 



X 




I got a let - ter from Je - sus, Ahah, 



ahali! 



I got a let-ter, 






:ja: 





i 



3ii 



-i- 



I got a let-ter, I got a let - ter from Je - sus, 'Mm, 'Mrn. 



i 



I got a letter from Jesus, 
Ahah, ahah! 

I got a letter, I got a letter, 
I got a letter from Jesus, 
'Mm, 'Mm. 



487 



EZEKIEL, YOU AND ME 



The author's arrangement of lines and airs from five negro spirituals that have for many years 
given musical enjoyment and spiritual sustenance, with harmonization by Alfred G. Wathall. 

Arr. A. G. W. 

Mafttoto e religioto mf =r 








Hh 



zstzzat 






wheel, Ez - e - k'l saw dc wheel, 'Way up in de mid-die of de air. De 



SZLl^E 



ap 



<*> 




3=3^' 



big wheel move by faith; 
mf> - ( - 



DC lit-tle wheel move by de grace of God; A wheel in a 
?* 




488 



E2EKIEL, YOU AND ME 



m / 






1 



wheel, 'Way up in de mid-die of de air. 



A wheel in a wheel, 
If* 




r- 



coZ/a 



s^t 



poco ritardando sff 



rftm rtl. zn: 



wheel in a wheel, Lz-e-k'l saw de wheel, 'Way up in de raid-die of de air. 

j i i ^ I 




poco /* tost. m 



ot>//a rorc 



* Q ^^ 



=3q 



2 Con vio/o 






Keep a - inch- in, '_ keep a - inch - in,' 



Je - su 



sus will come by and 




t 

Inch by inch, inch by inch 



Like a po' inch 



jr^-^t- 

tf * "p^ - 

pororii. n= 



piu lento 



^^ 



' 1 



489 



EZEKIEL, YOU AND ME 



poco rU. 



3 m/ 



J. 



worm, 



Je - sus will come by and by. 



It's me, 



O 




colla voce 



tranquillo 



BS 




Lord; 



it's me, it's mo, It's me, Lord; Stand-in* in de need of 







m/ 




P^aa*. 
^ 



P^3 

4 _f__ 



PP 



*$= 



poro ri<. 



^ 



prayer; It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord; Stand-in' in de need of 



E^i * ^ *Uby I [ 



cre. 






^s^; 



4 m/ 3/o/to (tt'librrato 



. 



prayer. 



Chill - y wa - ter, chill - y wa - ter, Hal - le - lu - jah to dat 




490 



BZBKIBL, YOU AND MB 



Lamb! 



^ *"r~ ~^* 

I know dat wa - ter am chill -y and cold, And a Hal-le- 






lu - jali to dat Lamb ! 




moun - tain, 



pray - - in', in de val - ley, 






1s?- 

r 



-& 

= 










mf) 






-* - 



We're go'n to reap jus' what we sow,. 



=r ^ VJ J . 




491 



EZEKIEL, YOU AND MB 




Ho - pin' on de moun - tain,. 



ho 



pin* in de 











val - ley,. 



I'm go'n to reap jits' what I sow. 




1 Ezck'l saw dc wheel, Ezek'l saw de wheel, 
'Way up in de middle of de air. 

De big wheel move by faith; 

De little wheel move by de grace of God; 

A wheel in a wheel, 

'Way up in de middle of de air. 

A wheel in a wheel, a wheel in a wheel, 

Ezek'l saw de wheel, 

'Way up in de middle of de air. 

2 Keep a-inchin', keep a-5nchin*, 
Jesus will come by and by; 
Inch by inch, inch by inch, 
Like a po* inch worm, 

Jesus will come by and by. 



3 It's me, O Lord; it's me, it's me, 
It's me, Lord; 

Standin' in de need of prayer; 
It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord; 
Standin' in de need of prayer. 

4 Chilly water, chilly water, 
Hallelujah to dat Lamb! 

I know dat water am chilly and cold, 
And a Hallelujah to dat Lamb! 

5 Prayin' on de mountain, prayin' in de valley* 
We're go'n to reap jus' what we sow; 
Hopin' on de mountain, hopin' in de valley, 
I'm go'n to reap jus' what I sow. 



492 



INDEX 



Abalone, 338 

Abdul, the Bulbul Ameer, 344 

Across the Western Ocean, 412 

Adelita, 300 

Ain' Go'n' to Study War No Me/, 480 

Ain't Gonna Rain, 141 

Alice B., 28 

All Night Long. 448 

Animal Fair, 348 

A. R. U., 190 

As I Walked Out in the Streets of Laredo, 263 

As I Was Walkin' Down Wexford Street. 35 

Ballet of De Boll Weevil, 252 

Banks of Sacramento, The, 112 

Barbra Allen, 57 

Been in the Pen So Long, 220 

Bigerlow, 174 

Bird in a Cage, 213 

Blind Man Lay Beside the Way, 452 

Blow the Man Down, 404 

Boll Weevil Song, 8 

Bolsum Brown, 355 

Boy He Had an Auger, A, 343 

Brady, 198 

Brown Girl, The, 156 

Buffalo Skinners, The, 270 

By'm By, 453 

California, 110 

Calliope, 349 

Cap'n I Believe, 363 

Careless Love, 21 

Casey Jones, 366 

C. C. Rider, 246 

Chahcoal Man, 459 

Chicken Reel, 116 

Cielito Lindo, 298 

Cigarettes Will Spoil Yer Life, 335 

Cocaine Lil, 206 

Colorado Trail, The, 462 

Common Bill, 62 

Coo-Coo, 237 

Coon Can, 310 

Crazy Song to the Air of "Dixie," 342 

Cuckoo Waltz, 160 

Dakota Land, 280 

Dead Horse, The, 406 

De Blues Ain' Nothin', 234 

Dese Bones Gwine to Rise Again, 470 

De Titanic, 254 

Did You Ever, Ever, Ever? 329 

Dis Mornin', Dis Evenin', So Soon, 18 

Don' Let Yo' Watch Run Down, 370 

Down, Down Deny Down, 118 

Down in the Valley, 148 

Dreary Black Hills, The, 264 

Driving Saw-logs on the Plover, 396 



Drivin' Steel, 150 

Drunkard's Doom, The. 104 

Dying Hogger, The, 186 

Early Mornings, 293 

El Abandonado, 295 

El-a-noy, 162 

E-ri-e, The. 180 

Erie Canal, The, 171 

Ever Since Uncle John Henry Been Dead, 376 

Ezekiel, You and Me, 488 

Fair Annie of Lochyran, 99 

Fair Eleanor, 156 

Farmer, The, 282 

Filipino Hombre, A, 434 

Fireman Save My Child, 208 

Flat River Girl, 392 

Foggy, Foggy Dew, 14 

Fond Affection, 323 

Frankie and Albert, 75 

Frankie and Johnny, 78 

Frankie Blues, 82 

Frozen Girl, The, 58 

Gamboling Man, The, 313 

Give Me Three Grains of Corn, Mother, 41 

Go Bring Me Back My Blue-Eyed Boy, 324 

God's Coin* to Set This World on Fire. 478 

Go Get the Ax, 332 

Goin' Down to Town, 145 

Good Boy, The, 203 

Good-by Liza Jane, 51 

Good-bye, Brother, 477 

Got Dem Blues, 232 

Go to Sleepy, 454 

Go 'Way Fom Mali Window, 377 

Great Gawd, I'm Fcclin' Bad, 238 

Greenfields, 154 

Greens, 347 

Gypsy Davy, 811 

Half Horse and Half Alligator, 427 

Hallelujah, I'm a Bum! 184 

Hammer Man, 139 

Handsome Young Airman, The, 436 

Hanging Out the Linen Clothes, 117 

Hangman, 385 

Hayseed, 50 

Hearse Song, The, 444 

Heave Away, 407 

Hello, Girls, 128 

He's Gone Away, 3 

Hey Betty Martin, 158 

Highbridge, 155 

Hinky Dinky, Parlee-Voo, 440 

Hog-eye, 380 

Hog-eye Man, The, 410 

Hoosen Johnny, 164 

Horse Named Bill, The, 340 



498 



INDEX 



House Carpenter, The, 00 

Hundred Year* Ago, A, 485 

Hunters of Kentucky, The, 427 

I Catch-a da Plenty of F*5sh, 400 

I Don't Like No Railroad Man, 826 

I Don't Want to Be a Gambler, 405 

I Drearrn-d Last Night of My True Love, 140 

If I Die a Railroad Man, 302 

I Found a How Shoe, 88* 

I Got a Gal at the Head of the Holler, 320 

I Got a Letter from Jesus, 487 

I Know Moonlight, 451 

I M<*t Her in the Garden Where the Pratica Grow, 403 

I'm Sad and Pin Lonely, 243 

In De Vinter Time, 334 

In My Father's House, 483 

In the Days of Old Rame*, 20* 

I Ride an Old Paint, 12 

Irish Lullaby, 30 

It'H the Syme the Whole World Over, 200 

I Was Born AlmoMt Ten Thousand Year* Ago, 330 

I Went Down to the Depot, 374 

I Wish I Was a Little Bird, 338 

I Wish I Was Single Again, 47 

Jackson. 430 

Jam on Gerry's Roek, The, 394 

James Wlialarul, 380 

Jay Gould's Daughter, 304 

Jerry, Go an' He That Car, 360 

Jesse James, 4*20 

Jesus, Won't You Coino B'm-By? 409 

Jim Fink, 410 

Joe Turner, 241 

John B. Sails, The, 2* 

John Henry, *4 

Jotue, 84 

Jungle Mammy Song, 455 

Kansas Boys. 129 

Kentucky Moonsluner, 142 

Kevin Barry, 42 

Kind Miss, 144 

Kinkaiders, The. 278 

La Cuearacha, 289 

Lane County Baehelor, The, 120 

I/eave Her, Bullies, Leave Her, 412 

legacy. 155 

Levee Moan, 225 

Lincoln and Liberty, 107 

Little Ah Sid, 270 

Little Old Sod Shanty, The, 89 

Little Scotch-ee, 64 

Liza in the Summer Time, 308 

Liza Jane, 132 

London City, 324 

Lonesome Road, 322 

Ix>nc Star Trail, The, 206 

Lo Que Digo, 294 

Lord Lovel, 70 



Lover's Lament, The, 126 

Love Somebody, Yes I Do, 140 

Lydia Pinkham, 210 

Mag's Song, 310 

Maid Freed from the Gallows, The, 72 

Mama Have You Heard the News? 368 

Mafianitas (de Jalisco), 292 

Man Goin* Roun', 447 

Mary Had a William Goat, 330 

Mary Wore Three Links of Chain, 474 

Mexican Cockroach Song, 289 

Midnight Special, 20 

Midnight Special (2), 217 

Midnight Train, The, 325 

Missouri Harmony, The, 152 

Mister Frog Went A-courting, 143 

Moanish Lady, 11 

Money, 112 

Monkey's Wedding, The, 113 

Moonlight, 210 

Morrissey and the Russian Sailor, 398 

Mountain Top, 133 

Mule Skinner s Song, 400 

My Lulu, 378 

My Old Huinniah. 457 

My Pretty Little Pink, 100 

My Sister She Works in a Laundry, 381 

Negro Reel, 184 

No Broad for the Poor, 319 

No More Booze, 208 

O Bury Me Beneath the Willow, 314 

Oh, Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie, 20 

Old Abe Lincoln Came Out of the Wilderness, 108 

Old Adam, 339 

Old Brass Wagon, 159 

Old Gray Mare, 102 

O My Honey, Take Me Back, 239 

One Morning in May, 136 

Orphan Girl, The, 319 

On the Charlie So Long, 304 

On to the Morgues 199 

Peacock Song, 237 

Pharaoh's Army Got Drownded, 476 

IV Boy, 30 

Poor Boy, 310 

Pcx>r Kitty Popcorn, 431 

Poor Lonesome Cowboy, 273 

Poor Paddy Works on the Railway, 856 

Poor Working Girl, The, 195 

Portland County Jail, 214 

Post-rail Song, 138 

Preacher and the Slave, The, 222 

Pretty Fair Maid, A, 68 

Pretty Polly, 60 

Prisoner's Song, The, 216 

Quaker's Wooing, The, 71 

Rabble Soldier, 284 



494 



INDEX 



Raging Canawl, 178 

Railroad Bill, 384 

Railroad Cars Arc Coming, The, 358 

Red Iron Ore, 176 

Red River Valley, 130 

Roll the Chariot, 196 

RosieNell. 114 

Roving Gambler, The, 312 

Sadie, 86 

Sam Boss, 422 

Satan's a Liah, 250 

Sergeant, He Is the Worst of All, The, 435 

Seven Long Years in State Prison, 218 

Shanty-Man's Life, The. 890 

She Died on the Train, 308 

Shell Be Comin' Round Hie Mountain, 372 

She Promised She'd Meet Me, 207 

She Said the Same to Me, 38 

Ship That Never Returned, The, 146 

Shovclliu' Iron Ore, 183 

Sh-Ta-Ra-Dah-Dey, 36 

Si Ilubbard, 350 

Somebody, 464 

Son of a Gamlx>licr. The, 44 

Sourwood Mountain. 125 

Staiidin* on the Walls of Zion, 484 

Sucking Cider Through a Straw, 829 

Sweet Betsy from Pike, 107 

Tenderfoot, The, 274 

Ten Thousand Miles Away, 100 

Ten Thousand Miles away from Homo, 456 

There's Many a Man Killed on the Railroad, 371 

There Was an Old Soldier, 432 

Things I Used to Do, 482 

Those Gambler's Blues, 228 

Timber, 386 

Times Gettin* Hard, Boys, 242 

Trail to Mexico, The, 285 

Trump, Tramp, Tramp, Keep on A-tramping, 185 



Troubled Soldier, The, 1S7 

True Lover's Farewell, The, 98 

Turkey in the Straw, 94 

Two White Horses, 472 

Versos de Montalgo, 302 

Waillie, Waillie! 16 

Walky-Talky Jenny, 48 

Wanderin'. 188 

War Bird's Burlesque, A, 438 

Way Over in the New Bury in* GromV, 473 

Way Up on Clinch Mountain, 307 

We Are Four Bums, 192 

Weaver, The, 400 

Weevily Wheat. 101 

What Kin* (V Pants DOOH the Gambler Wear? 240 

What Was Your Name in the States? 100 

When a Woman Blue, 23 

When I Was Young and Foolish, 219 

When Poor Mary Came Wandering Home, 400 

When the Curtains of Night Are Pinned Back, 259 

When the Work's All Done This Fall, 200 

Where O Where Is Old Elijah? 92 

Where They Were, 442 

Whisky Johnny. 403 

Wh(x>pee Ti Yi Yo, Git Along Little Dogies, 268 

Who's the Pretty Girl Milkin* the Cow? 40 

Who Will Shoe Your Pretty Little Foot? 98 

Wide Mizzoura, The, 408 

Willy the Weeper, 204 

Wind It Blew up the Railroad Track, The, 379 

Windsor. 153 

Wizard Oil, 52 

Worthington, 154 

Wrap Me up in My Tarpaulin Jacket, 430 

Yonder Comes My Pretty Little Girl, 313 

Yonder Comes the High Sheriff, 213 

You Fight On, 248 

You Got to Cross It foh Yohself, 480 

Zek'l Weep, 419 



495