Ben King's Verse/Pinkey

by Benjamin Franklin King

I reckon wintah's goin'
It's rainin' 'sted of snowin'.
I tale yo' dar 's no knowin'
     Jes' whar dis chile'll go.

Might go to Souf Kyarlina,
An' summah dar wid Dinah;
I guess I'd cut a shine
     Among de coons I know.

Den dar's my good ol' massa
'Way down in Tallahassie.
He ain't fo'got dis sassie
     Chile dat used to sing.

De why he call me "Pinkey"
Was de colluh ob my crinkey
Frock I wore so shrinky
     When I use to dance de fling.

We gals out in de moonshine
Would dance de good ol' coonjine,
An' dreckly den we'd soon fin'
     Dat missus heah de noise.

Den mighty quick she'd hurry
Down dar all in a flurry,
An' fin' dis huckleberry
     A-dancin' fo' de boys.

An' den de way she'd take me,
An' land ob goodness, shake me!
Ol' missus raised an' brake me.
     No wondah I'se so good.

Ol' missus used to tell me
Dat like de cows she'd bell me,
Or else she'd done go sell me
     To Yankees, I'se so rude.

I 'membah Rasmus Biddle,
As black as auntie's griddle;
He used to play de fiddle,
     An' feet! umh! a holy show.

An' dar was Luke an' Jaspah,
Lucindy, Jude an' Caspah,
Dat ignominy us, 'aspah-
     Ratin', on'ry lookin' moke.

Dat ol' cush-footed, cramp-back,
Dat essence ob ol' lampblack,
Dat inside yih! yih! ob a smokestack,
     Us gals we called 'im smoke.

An' dat new coon Pom Cuba,
Dat use to play de tuba,
He used to pat de juba,
     While I dance de Mobile buck.

De ole banjo was a-pingin'
An' dat pink frock a-swingin',
Dis yaller chile a-wingin',
     Jes' hoein' down fo' luck.

I ain't no Mobile niggah,
I cut no Mobile figgah,
But when yo' pull de triggah
     Yo' pestah dese heah shoes.

An' when de fiddle's scrapin',
Dar's too much music 'scapin',
I'se got to git to shapin'
     Myself or git de blues.