don't ax de proper way,
Den w'en dey git's no answer dey doubts de use to pray.

You got to use egzac'ly de 'spressions an' de words
To show dat 'tween yo' faith an' works, you 'pends on works two-thirds.

Now, one time I remember--jes how long I won't say--
I thought I'd like a turkey to eat on Chris'mus day.

Fu' weeks I dreamed 'bout turkeys, a-struttin' in der pride;
But seed no way to get one--widout de Lawd pervide.

An' so I went to prayin', I pray'd wid all my might;
"Lawd, sen' _to_ me a turkey." I pray'd bofe day an' night.

"Lawd, sen' _to_ me a turkey, a big one if you please."
I 'clar to heaben I pray'd so much I mos' wore out ma knees.

I pray'd dat prah so often, I pray'd dat prah so long,
Yet didn't git no turkey, I know'd 'twas sump'n wrong.

So on de night 'fore Chris'mus w'en I got down to pray,
"Lawd, sen' _me_ to a turkey," I had de sense to say.

"Lawd, sen' _me_ to a turkey." I know dat prah was right,
An' it was sholy answer'd; I got de bird dat night.

DAT GAL O' MINE

Skin as black an' jes as sof' as a velvet dress,
Teeth as white as ivory--well dey is I guess.

Eyes dat's jes as big an' bright as de evenin' star;
An' dat hol' some sort o' light lublier by far.

Hair don't hang 'way down her back; plaited up in rows;
Wid de two en's dat's behin' tied wid ribben bows.

Han's dat raly wuz'n made fu' hard work, I'm sho';
Got a little bit o' foot; weahs a numbah fo'.

You jes oughtah see dat gal Sunday's w'en she goes
To de Baptis' meetin' house, dressed in her bes' clo'es.

W'en she puts her w'ite dress on an' othah things so fine;
Now, Su', don't you know I'm proud o' dat gal o' mine.

THE SEASONS

W'en de leaves begin to fall,
An' de fros' is on de ground,
An' de 'simmons is a-ripenin' on de tree;
W'en I heah de dinner call,
An' de chillen gadder 'round,
'Tis den de 'possum is de meat fu' me.

W'en de wintertime am pas'
An' de spring is come at las',
W'en de good ole summer sun begins to shine;
Oh! my thoughts den tek a turn,
An' my heart begins to yearn
Fo' dat watermelon growin' on de vine.

Now, de yeah will sholy bring
'Round a season fu' us all,
Ev'y one kin pick his season f'om de res';
But de melon in de spring,
An' de 'possum in de fall,
Mek it hard to tel