Crowded Out

Nobody ain’t Christmas shoppin’ Fur his stockin’, Nobody ain’t cotch no turkey, Nobody ain’t bake no pie. Nobody’s laid nuthin’ by; Santa Claus don’t cut no figger Fur his mammy’s little nigger. Seems lak everybody’s rushin’ An’ er crushin’; Crowdin’ shops an’ jammin’ trolleys, Buyin’ shoes an’ shirts an’ toys Fur de white folks’ girls an’ boys; But no hobby-horse ain’t rockin’ Fur his little wore-out stockin’. He ain’t quar’lin’, recollec’, He don’t spec Nuthin’—it’s his not expectin’ Makes his mammy wish—O Laws!— Fur er nigger Santy Claus, Totin’ jus’ er toy balloon Fur his mammy’s little coon.