The Corn Song

Jes’ beyan a clump o’ pines—
    Lis’n to ’im now!—
Hyah de jolly black boy,
    Singin’, at his plow!
In de early mornin’,
    Thoo de hazy air,
Loud an’ clear, sweet an’ strong
    Comes de music rare:

“O mah dovee, Who-ah!
Do you love me? Who-ah!
            Who-ah!”
An’ as ’e tu’ns de cotton row,
Hyah ’im tell ’is ol’ mule so;
    “Whoa! Har! Come ’ere!”

Don’t yo’ love a co’n song?
    How it stirs yo’ blood!
Ever’body list’nin’,
    In de neighborhood!
Standin’ in yo’ front do’
    In de misty mo’n,
Hyah de jolly black boy,
    Singin’ in de co’n:

“O Miss Julie, Who-ah!
Love me truly, Who-ah!
            Who-ah!”
Hyah ’im scol’ ’is mule so,
W’en ’e try to mek ’im go:
    “Gee! Whoa! Come ’ere!”

O you jolly black boy,
    Yod’lin’ in de co’n,
Callin’ to yo’ dawlin’.
    In de dewy mo’n,
Love ’er, boy, forevah,
    Yodel ever’ day;
Only le’ me lis’n,
    As yo’ sing away:

“O mah dawlin’! Who-ah!
Hyah me callin’! Who-ah!
            Who-ah!”
Tu’n aroun’ anothah row,
Holler to yo’ mule so:
    “Whoa! Har! Come ’ere!”