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Updated: August 6, 2024
Now we're gwine out ter de cotton compress, an' git a lot er colored men tergether, an' ef de w'ite folks 'sturbs me, I shouldn't be s'prise' ef dere'd be a mix-up; an' ef dere is, me an one w'ite man 'll stan' befo' de jedgment th'one er God dis day; an' it won't be me w'at'll be 'feared er de jedgment. Come along, boys!
Several of the men wavered, and looked irresolute. "I reckon that's all so, doctuh," returned Josh, "an', de way you put it, I don' blame you ner Mr. Watson; but all dem reasons ain' got no weight wid me. I'm gwine in dat town, an' ef any w'ite man 'sturbs me, dere'll be trouble, dere'll be double trouble, I feels it in my bones!" "Remember your old mother, Josh," said Miller.
DE ole bee make de honey-comb, De young bee make de honey, De niggers make de cotton en co'n, En de w'ite folks gits de money. De raccoon he's a cu'us man, He never walk twel dark, En nuthin' never 'sturbs his mine, Twel he hear ole Bringer bark. De raccoon totes a bushy tail, De 'possum totes no ha'r, Mr. Rabbit, he come skippin' by, He ain't got none ter spar'.
Ef you has bad luck er sickness er trouble er any kin', doan blame me. You can't say ole Julius did n' wa'n you." "Warn him of what, Uncle Julius?" asked my wife. "Er de bad luck w'at follers folks w'at 'sturbs dat trac' er Ian'. Dey is snakes en sco'pions in dem woods. En ef you manages ter 'scape de p'isen animals, you is des boun' ter hab a ha'nt ter settle wid, ef you doan hab two."
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