Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UNCLE JIMMIE'S YARN, by PRISCILLA JANE THOMPSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UNCLE JIMMIE'S YARN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Did I evah tell you, sonny
Last Line: Way back in 'sixty-three
Subject(s): African Americans; Negroes; American Blacks


DID I evah tell you, Sonny,
Well, a-he! he! he!
De trick I played in Dixie,
'Way back in 'sixty-three?
I wus wild an' full uv mischief,
An' reckless ez could be,
In dem rough ole days in Natchez,
'Way back in 'sixty-three.

I wus out a-for'gin', Sonny,
Well, a-he! he! he!
Out a-doin' debbilment,
Big man sah, who but me?
Had a smackin' big hoss-pistol,
'Long bout dis size, confound!
Jest to wa'm dem rebels' jackets,
An' make dem jump around.

It wus early Sunday mawnin',
Well, a-he! he! he!
When all de boys wus restin,
'Cept sma'ties, jest like me.
I, astride my coal black filly,
Cumed a-lopin' up de hill,
Whar I halted an' sot lookin',
Down Natchez, ca'm an' still.

I could see de great big buildins',
Well, a-he! he! he!
A-r'arin' up tha steeples,
Dat seemed a-sassin' me;
Den I pulled ole roa'in' Betsey,
An' aimed de cupelo.
Uv de co'thouse uv de rebels,
An' let de triggah go,

I wus handy wid a pistol.
Well a he! he! he!
My han' wus true an' stiddy.
Fuh I wus young, you see;
So my fust shot toe a slab off,
Nigh big ez dat ba'n doe;
Dat jest riled me wus dan evah,
So, once mo' I let huh go.

Den de othah side, I leveled,
Well, a-he! he! he!
She jest to'e tings to pieces,
Ez any eye could see;
So den, nuttin but de centah pa't.
Uv dat fine cupelo,
Was a-standin' now fuh Natchez,
De rest wus layin' low.

Den I loaded roa'in Betsy,
Well, a-he! he! he!
An' cracked it on de centah,
An' Betsy bawled out, Dee!
De centah pa't jest crumbled down,
Sho Sonny, yes sah ree!
So dat settled wid dat co't-house,
'Way back in 'sixty-three.

Den I wheeled, an' spurred my filly;
Well, a he! he! he!
An' put off fuh de barracks,
Ez fas' ez fas' could be:
I could heah de bullets whislin',
About my very head,
Fuh I'd hit de rebel's bee-hive,
An' dey answered me wid lead.

When at last I reached de barracks,
Well, a-he! he! he!
De captain standin' 'kimbo,
Wus fus man dat I see;
"Whut's you doin' to dem rebels?
You vagabond, he sed,
You raised mo' fuss an' smoke down dah,
Dan evah could ole Ned."

Den de laugh his eyes 'gin twinklin',
Well, a-he! he! he!
An' so I bust out laughin',
I seed dat I wus free;
'You'll git yo' fill uv fightin', sah,
You roscil!' Den, says he,
And dat wound up de co't-house scrape,
'Way back in 'sixty-three






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