G'WAY an' quit dat noise, Miss Lucy --
dat music book away;
What's de use to keep on tryin'?
you practise twell you're gray,
You cain't sta't no notes a-flyin'
de ones dat rants and rings
F'om de kitchen to be big woods
You ain't got de nachel o'gans
to make de soun' come right,
You ain't got de tu'ns an' twistin's
to make it sweet an' light.
Tell you one thing now, Miss Lucy,
I'm tellin' you fu' true,
When hit comes to raal right singin',
ain't no easy thing to do.
Easy 'nough fu' folks to hollah,
at de lines an' dots,
When dey ain't no one kin sence it,
de chune comes in, in spots;
But fu' real melojous music,
jes' strikes yo' hea't and clings,
Jes' you stan' an' listen wif me
Ain't you nevah hyeahd Malindy?
soul, tek up de cross!
Look hyeah, ain't you jokin', honey?
you don't know whut you los'.
Y' ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa'blin',
la'ks, an' all dem things,
Heish dey moufs an' hides dey faces
Fiddlin' man jes' stop his fiddlin',
his fiddle on de she'f;
Mockin'-bird quit tryin' to whistle,
he jes' so shamed hisse'f.
Folks a-playin' on de banjo
dey fingahs on de strings--
Bless yo' soul--fu'gits to move em,
She jes' spreads huh mouf and hollahs,
to Jesus," twell you hyeah
Sinnahs' tremblin' steps and voices,
Den she tu'ns to "Rock of Ages,"
to de cross she clings,
An' you fin' yo' teahs a-drappin'
Who dat says dat humble praises
de Master nevah counts?
Heish yo' mouf, I hyeah dat music,
hit rises up an' mounts--
Floatin' by de hills an' valleys,
above dis buryin' sod,
Ez hit makes its way in glory
de very gates of God!
Oh, hit's sweetah dan de music
an edicated band;
An' hit's dearah dan de battle's
o' triumph in de lan'.
It seems holier dan evenin'
de solemn chu'ch bell rings,
Ez I sit an' ca'mly listen
Towsah, stop dat ba'kin', hyeah me!
mek dat chile keep still;
Don't you hyeah de echoes callin'
de valley to de hill?
Let me listen, I can hyeah it,
de bresh of angels' wings,
Sof' an' sweet, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,"
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