58
THE APPLE-WOMAN’S COMPLAINT
’Cep’ when him an’ him heartless ban’
Hab sufferin’ nigger in dem han’.
Ah son-son! dough you ’re bastard, yah,
An’ dere’s no one you can call pa,
Jes’ try to ha’ you’ mudder’s min’
An’ Police Force you’ll neber jine.
But how judge bélieve pólicemen,
Dem dutty mout’ wid lyin’ stain’?
While we go batterin’ along
Dem doin’ we all sort o’ wrong.
We hab fe barter-out we soul
To lib t’rough dis ungodly wul’;—
O massa Jesus! don’t you see
How pólice is oppressin’ we?
Dem wan’ fe see we in de street
Dah foller dem all ’pon dem beat;
An’ after, ’dout a drop o’ shame,
Say we be’n dah solicit dem.
Ah massa Jesus! in you’ love
Jes’ look do’n from you’ t’rone above,
An’ show me how a poo’ weak gal
Can lib good life in dis ya wul’.
