Avenging the Maine, a drunken A.B., and other poems / by James Ephraim McGirt [electronic text]

UNKER ISREL.

De people call me er kunger, Jes kase I du sum tricks; Jes, kase I'se got dis lucky black bone. Kan't gedder rutes fur tea Widout da talk ob dat; Da say I'se got er ball er blue loadstone.

Do kur what I du noble, No diffens how it's dun, Yer nebber hur dem prazin ob mi brane; Lack whin I merid Anlyzer, Jest kase she's got sum sence Day's sayin dat I got hur wid sum keme.

Let sumtin hapen ter nabors, Let sum ob dem git sick, For it all I sul got ter bear de blame; Jes kas I'se got dis bull-eye, An 'er rabbit foot er two,' On me da puts mose eberthing dats mean.

Som time da talk so scanlus It gits me rite upsot, 'N speshly when I notis whut da say, I wanter take dis cat bone, An eberthing I got, 'N let de people see me throw'm er way.

I gedder dem tergedder, 'N place dem in er pile; I gin ter think erbout de needy day; I kno whut da'll du fur me, 'N git mad wid mi self 'Bout wurrin ober whut de people say.

Kase when I see dis cat bone, Dis guffer dat I got, Kan't help de ters fum cumin in mi ey; Once when de wurl w's gins me, An frens had turned der backs, Dis loadstone and dis bull's-eye stood rite by.

Jes call me what yer wanter, Kan't take no peck on me; Ain't shame tu own de things dat brot me thu; Talk 'bout yer mudder's techin, But what dese dun fur me Is much ez eny mudder'll eber du.

Wid dis bone I'd mark de path Dat run from masser's do, An ebber mornin he would hafter cross De goffer in mi pocket; I dun jes lack I plesed; U'd sene me u'der thot I wus de bos.

Ole masser'd cross de mark 'N den he'd gin ter smile; Ter talk wid me ole masser seemed rite proud. I made de wemin lub me, 'N long as I wus dar Ole masser nebber hit one ob de croud.

I kep him do fum beatin Most all de wemin folks; Sum times I'd wurk a fue tricks fur de men; Dey cudent git me fur nufin; I'd nebber move er pag, Fur ebber trick da had ter bring er tin.

Sum times I'd go out coutin, Rub goffer on me hands; I'd put er rabbit foot doun in mi sho; No hound on urf could track'm; Cud make de wemin lub, 'N when I'd meet de gurls dis way I do:

Make lack I'se glad ter see'm, 'N grab hold ob der han; Be rubbin goffer on dem all de time; No use in scornin, honey, 'N turnin up your nose, Kas if I want yer I kan make yer mine.