Song Of the Huckster.

I don’ ride erlong de street Wid my mouth shet tight, Kaze I know I got ter sing, Lak a singer right, If I make dis pile ob goods Dwindle frum de sight: “Tomatoes en okra Passin’ right by! Beans en pertatoes— De prices ain’t high! Apples en peaches, De fines’ ter-day! Oh, come out en buy ’Fo’e dey all git away— Come out en buy!” All de white men down de street Wantin’ me, fo’ sho, Des to drive en sell fo’ dem, Kaze dey say dey know I git rid ob all my truck, Singin’ ez I go: “Tomatoes en okra Passin’ right by! Beans en pertatoes— De prices ain’t high! Apples en peaches, De fines’ ter-day! Oh, come out en buy ’Fo’e dey all git away— Come out en buy!” Once de preacher what hol’ fo’th Fo’ de Methodis’, Say: “Oh, man, I b’l’eve dat you Done yo’ callin’ miss! Why’n’t you use dat voice ter preach ’Stead ob shoutin’ dis:

“‘Tomatoes en okra Passin’ right by! Beans en pertatoes— De prices ain’t high! Apples en peaches, De fines’ ter-day! Oh, come out en buy ’Fo’e dey all git away— Come out en buy!’” En I laugh en tell him dat Dis town full ter-day Ob fine men, des lak hisse’f, What kin preach en pray; But dey ain’t but one dat go Singin’ ’long dis way: “Tomatoes en okra Passin’ right by! Beans en pertatoes— De prices ain’t high! Apples en peaches, De fines’ ter-day! Oh, come out en buy ’Fo’e dey all git away— Come out en buy!”

Uncle Reuben, ole en good, Come ter town wid nice fat wood Frum de san’ hills fur away— ’Mos’ eleben miles, dey say. En he drive a ox so slow, En a cart dat wobble so, Dat it look lak dey gwine fall, En ole Uncle gwine lose all, By en by, by en by. Uncle got dat wood dervide, En in hones’ bundles tied, En he holler ’cross de fence: “Three big bunches fo’ ten cents! Buy some, Missus, please, frum me, Kaze I need de change, you see; En I mus’ go down de street Ter git me some meal en meat, By en by, by en by.

Missus say she don’ want none; What he brought befo’ ain’t gone; En ole Uncle pass on by, Still wid courage in his eye; En he doan’ lose heart dat day, But wid smilin’ face he say: “I ain’t bin all ’roun’ de town— I gwine sell it, I am boun’, By en by, by en by.” En he sell it all, fo’ true, Ez he said dat he would do! When at las’ he go down street, He buy mo’ dan meal en meat, Kaze he lak terbacco, too, Well ez any nigger do; En he say: “I’ll ’joy it, sho, Ez erlong de road I go, By en by, by en by.” When he ’bout ter leave de town Ez de sun am gwine down, Us black niggers laugh en say: “Bet you won’t git home ter-day Wid dat ox, so ole en slow, En dat cart dat wobble so!” En he bow his head en say: “I gwine git dar, anyway, By en by, by en by.” Uncle Reuben’s gittin’ ole— He’s pas’ sixty, I’se bin tole; En his han’ sho shake ter-day In a weak en trimblin’ way; En his ole legs wobbled too, Lak de wheels ob his cart do, Ez he say: “De en’ soon come, Kaze de Lawd gwine call me home, By en by, by en by.”