IN OLD KENTUCK in de arternoon, We sweep de floor wid a bran-new broom, And arter that we form a ring, And dis de song dat we do sing: Oh! Clare de kitchen, old folks, young folks, Clare de kitchen, old folks, young folks, Old Virginny never tire. I went to de creek, I couldn't git across, I'd nobody wid me but an old blind horse; But Old Jim Crow came riding by, Says he, old fellow, your horse will die. So clare, &c. My horse fell down upon de spot, Says he, "Don't you see his eyes is sot?" So I took out my knife and off wid his skin, And when he comes to life I'll ride him agin. So clare, &c. A jay bird sot on a hickory limb, He wink'd at me and I winked at him; I pick'd up a stone and I hit his shin, Says he, "You better not do dat agin." So clare, &c. A bullfrog dress'd in soger's close Went in de field to shoot some crows; De crows smell powder and fly away, De bullfrog mighty mad dat day. So clare, &c. Den down I went wid Cato Moore, To see de steamboat come ashore; Every man for himself, so I pick'd up a trunk; "Leff off," said de captain, "or I burn you wid a chunk." And clare, &c. I hab a sweetheart in dis town, She wears a yellow striped gown, And when she walks de streets around, De hollow of her foot make a hole in de ground. Now clare, &c. Dis love is a ticklish ting, you know, It makes a body feel all over so; I put de question to coal-black Rose, She as black as ten of spades, and got a lubby flat nose. So clare, &c. Go away says she wid your cowcumber shin, If you come here agin I stick you wid a pin; So I turn on my heel and I bid her good bye, And arter I was gone she began to cry. So clare, &c. So now I'se up and off, you see, To take a julep sangaree; I'll sit upon a tater hill, And eat a little whippoorwill. So clare, &c. I wish I was back in Old Kentuck, For since I left it I had no luck; De gals so proud dey wont eat mush, And w'en you go to court 'em dey say, "O hush." So clare, &c. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOON by HAYDEN CARRUTH I SING OF LOVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON POETRY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HOUSE WITH THE MARBLE STEPS by AMY LOWELL GOD AND MY COUNTRY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HOLES BORED IN A WORKBAG BY THE SCISSORS by MARIANNE MOORE |