De sunny years am gone and all
De jolly makin' gloree time,
From farm an' hut an' manshun hall
De cullurd population's gwine,
Tur try de styles uv city folks.
De Boss he lef' some time ergo,
And built er house in town, yer kno',
His plans dey seem ter thrive, an' so
De cullurd brother thinks he'll go
An' just metroperlate er while.
An' when he gits ter town, yer kno',
He's ruint by de fashuns there;
'Tis 'Miss and Madum' So and So;
'Tis Mr. Johnson or 'tis 'Square';
Dhey all has nicknames up in town.
Dhar's Sam, what quit his plowin' biz
Ter move to town dis very year;
Well, he's stark crazy, 'deed he is;
Jist call 'im Sam, an' you'll hear
Him 'rectin' yer, 'Dis 'm Mr. Jones.'
Lizer, his wife, done ruint too,
Wid her 'tis 'Madum, ef yer please,'
An' den she'll highfalute wid you
Behint her fan, wid all de ease
De big folks does up dhar in town.
Sure! ebry blessed one uv dem
Done changed his name, an' dat aint all;
Dhey dress so fine, both gals and men,
Er country mam looks ruther small
Besides of dem when she's in town.
Dhey's got er new fandangle word
For our ol' fashun names, somehow,
Dhey titles use, us neber heard
Before - de elder's doctor now,
An' de church benches all am pews.
Chile, what yer thinks dhey calls de lane
Dat trails er long betwix de stores?
Nawp, 'taint 'Big road,' yer gess is vain
Yer'll crack dat woolly pate uv yours
'Fore yer ken gess what is er lane.
'Cross-road?' No, sir ree, try er gin;
Nawp, 'tis nuthin' like er highways
Nuther! I don't care whar yer's bin
Nur what yer's heard in all yer days,
'Twas nuthin' like 'Bully-Yard' fur lane.
Yer ought ter see um struttin' down
Dat 'Bully-Yard.' It tickles me
Ter see dem niggers up in town;
See Lawyer Bhoon wid Dr. Lee,
An' hear dem gent'mens 'scussin news.
Yer'd think dat some great folks done come
Like Linctom, Grant and Douglas wuz,
Er 'batin' human ri'ts upon
De public square in Dixie, c'uz
Et kinder 'pears dat way to me.
'Taint nuthin' like et uster be,
Wid ax, an' hoe, an' plow; dat's changed;
Dar's Bishop Smith wid his D. D.,
Presidin' Elder Reveren' Grange,
An' Madum Sloan, what leas'd de quare.
De rag dat's on de bush am dheirs;
Ruther, dey take de bush an' all
When 't comes to highfalutin' airs,
An' showin' off; ez I recall,
Dhar's nuffin' real 'bout none uv dem.
Uv course, dhar is a better folk,
What's prudent, wise and good; but these
Mus' serve an' wear de gallin' yoke,
An' be de prey uv make-believes,
An' low an' worthless renurgades.
Who'd have yer b'leave dhey had not seed
Er mule, or cotton patch, or ax;
An' claim to be so wise, indeed,
Et somehow all yer senses tax,
Ter 'zacley 'scribe um as dhey is.