'ZEKIEL'S INFIDELITY.
MISTIS, I raly wish you'd hol'
A little conwersation
Wid my ole Zekyel 'bout his soul:
Dat nigger's aggiwation
Is mos' done worrited me to death,
Raslin' wid 'im at ev'y breath.
Dat evil sinner's sot he face
Gin ev'y wud I know;
Brer Gabriel say he's fell from grace,
An' hell'll git him, sho'.
He don' believe in sperits,
'Skusin' 'tis out a jug;
Say 'tain' got no mo' merits
Den a ole half-cured lug;
'N' dat white cat I see right late
One evenin' nigh de grave-yard gate
Warn' nuttin' 'cep' some ole cat whar
Wus sot on suppin' off ole hyah.
He oon't allow a rooster
By crowin' in folks' do'
Kin bring death dyah, an' uster
Say 'e wish mine would crow;
An' he even say a hin mout try,
'Cep' women-folks would git so spry,
An' want to stick deeselves up den,
An' try to crow over de men.
Say 'tain' no good in preachin';
Dat niggers is sich fools,
Don't know no mo' 'bout teachin'
'N' white folks does 'bout mules;
An' when brer Gabriel's hollered tell
You mos' kin see right into hell,
An' rambled scriptures fit to bus',
Dat hard-mouf nigger's wus an' wus!
