I'se been upon de karpet,
Fo' lo, dese many days;
De men folks seem to sneer me,
In der kin' ob way.
But I don't min' der foolin',
Case I sho' is jis as fine
As any Kershaw pumpkin
A hangin on de vine.
I looks at dem sometimes,
But hol's my head up high,
Case I is fer above dem
As de moon is in de sky.
Dey sho' do t'ink dey's so much,
But I sho' is jis as fine
As eny sweet potato
Dat's growd up from de vine.
Dey needn't t'ink I's liken dem,
Case my match am hard to fin',
En I don't want de watermillion
Dat's lef' upon de vine.
Case I ain't no spring chicken,
Dis am solid talk,
En I don't want anything
Dat's foun' upon de walk.
Case ef I'd wanted anything,
I'd hitched up years ago,
En had my sher ob trouble.
But my min' tol' me no.
I'd rader be a single maid,
A wanderin' bout de town,
Wid skercely way to earn my bread,
En face all made ob frowns,—
Den hitched up to some numbskull,
Wid skercely sense to die,
En I know I cud'n kill him,
Dar'd be no use to try.
So don't let ol' maids boder you,
I'll fin' a match some day,
Or else I'll sho' 'main single,
You hear me what I say!
I specs to hol' my head up high
En always feel as free
As any orange blossom
A hangin' on de tree.