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Updated: May 21, 2025
I'm gwine ter look at dat newspaper dey be'n talkin' 'bout, an' 'less'n my min' changes might'ly, I'm gwine ter keep my mouf shet an' stan' in wid de Angry-Saxon race, ez dey calls deyse'ves nowadays, an' keep on de right side er my bread an' meat. Wat nigger ever give me twenty cents in all my bawn days?"
I'se only drawed up wid de rheumatiz, dat's all. 'Come ober heah to de light, says he, 'an' let me look in yo' mouf, an' see whedder yer hab got any teef. So I went wid him, an' while he was a-purtendin' to find out my p'ints he says to me, very quiet, 'Yer ain't dat gal's husband, nohow, says he, 'an' yer knows it.: 'I knows it, massa, says I, 'an' I'se skeered for my life ob her, fur she done said she'd kill any one dey dar'd to mate wid her: she's done got a husband ob her own up de ribber, I reckon. 'Yes, dat am de truf, says Massa John Brown; 'but see here, uncle: de Lord has done 'p'inted yer to be a guardian angel to dat po' chile.
"'No, eve'ybody 's skeered er a wolf, en I doan want nobody ter be skeered er me. "'Shill I turn you ter a mawkin'-bird? "'No, a hawk mought ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump'n w'at'll stay in one place. "'I kin turn you ter a tree, sez Tenie. 'You won't hab no mouf ner years, but I kin turn you back oncet in a w'ile, so you kin git sump'n ter eat, en hear w'at 's gwine on.
This is what "Miss Sally" heard: "Bimeby, one day, atter Brer Fox bin doin' all dat he could fer ter ketch Brer Rabbit, en Brer Rabbit bein doin' all he could fer ter keep 'im fum it, Brer Fox say to hisse'f dat he'd put up a game on Brer Rabbit, en he ain't mo'n got de wuds out'n his mouf twel Brer Rabbit came a lopin' up de big road, lookin' des ez plump, en ez fat, en ez sassy ez a Moggin hoss in a barley-patch.
"She and she mudder dead long ago," said Isham. "You is pow'ful ole, Aun' Patsy, an' you done forgit dese things." "Done forgit nuffin," curtly replied the old woman. "Don' tell me no moh' fool stuff. Dat Miss Annie, growed up an' married." "Did she tell you dat?" asked Isham. "She didn't tell me nuffin'. She kep' her mouf shet 'bout dat, an' I kep' my mouf shet. Don' talk to me!
You's a nigger! bawn a nigger and a slave! en you's a nigger en a slave dis minute; en if I opens my mouf ole Marse Driscoll'll sell you down de river befo' you is two days older den what you is now!" "It's a thundering lie, you miserable old blatherskite!" "It ain't no lie, nuther. It's just de truth, en nothin' but de truth, so he'p me. Yassir you's my son " "You devil!"
"Wid dat she grabs a caarvin' knife from de table, opens de do' ob de big oven, cuts off a leg ob de goose, an' dis'pears round de kitchen corner wid de leg in her mouf.
So he ma she say': "Git erlong wid yo'! Whut yo' skeered ob whin dey ain't no ghosts?" An' li'l' black Mose he scrooge', and he twist', an' he pucker' up de mouf, an' he rub' he eyes, an' prisintly he say' right low: "I ain' skeered ob ghosts whut am, 'ca'se dey ain' no ghosts." "Den whut am yo' skeered ob?" ask he ma.
Yo' paw?" said Tom; "he's a Republican; he done edit that kinder paper over 'cross the Ohier River, he does." There was unction in the glib quickness of Tom's reply. Then he dodged; it was just in time. "Shet yo' mouf," said Aunt M'randa with wrath; "ain't I done tol' how they've kep' it from the chile." Emily Louise was swallowing hard. "Then then am I a Republican?" Her voice sounded way off.
Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass, And set de niggas free, And when dat day am come to pass We'll all be dar to see! So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breafh, And do de white folks brown!
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