The 'Publican Party — the Democratic,
An' the daily papers, too,
Have asked in a manneh most emphatic
What the cullud race will do.
Will the Aff'o-American population
Keep growin' at such a rate
That by and by they'll rule the nation
An' control most ev'ry state?
The statesmen up in Washington
This problem soon must face;
It seems to worry ev'ry one
Excep' the cullud race.

We're from Af'icuh — 'ats the white man's vehsion;
We was careless an' we got caught,
But we didn't come heah on no excuhsion,
We come becuz we was brought!
We labored hard on the old plantation,
An' we neveh traveled fah,
But we hoped and prayed for Emancipation
An' a job on a Pullman cah.
You turned us free, you said to us,
' Your culluh's no disgrace.'
So if we're heah you must not cuss
The humble cullud race.

When a coon tries to enteh some profession
The white man hollers, ' Stop!
You're gettin' fresh; it's my impression
You belong in a bahbeh shop.'
But s'pose there hadn't been rag-time musicians —
What would the white folks sing?
And how would actors hold their positions
If they didn't do buck an' wing?
You little guess how much you owe
To 'e man with the chahcoal face —
You'd neveh had a minstrel show
Excep' for the cullud race.

We commit some wrongs — in the cohts it's written
That we've stole an' sometimes lied;
But you neveh heard of a coon committin'
Such a crime as suicide.
We may be pooh, down-trodden creatures,
But many a millionaire
Would like to have our smilin' features
An' a life as free from care.
With pickaninnies just enough
An' youh wife employed some place,
Three meals a day — it ain't so tough
To belong to the cullud race.