O ALL you little blackey tops, Pray don't you eat my father's crops, While I lie down to take a nap. Shua-O! Shua-O! If father he perchance should come, With his cocked hat and his long gun, Then you must fly and I must run. Shua-O! Shua-O! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INEVITABLY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BALLROOM DARK by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: MRS. CHARLES BLISS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |