W'en ole Mister Sun gits tiah'd a-hangin' High up in de sky; W'en der ain't no thunder and light'nin' a-bangin', An' de crap's done all laid by; W'en yo' bones ain't achin' wid de rheumatics, Den yo' ride de mule to town, Git a great big jug o' de ole corn juice, An' w'en you drink her down — Jes lay away ole Trouble, An' dry up all yo' tears; Yo' pleasure sho' to double An' you bound to lose yo' keers. Jes lay away ole Sorrer High upon de shelf; And never mind to-morrer, 'Twill take care of itself. W'en ole Mister Age begins a-stealin' Thoo yo' back an' knees, W'en yo' bones an' jints lose der limber feelin', An' am stiff'nin' by degrees; Now der's jes one way to feel young and spry, W'en you heah dem banjos soun' Git a great big swig o' de ole corn juice, An' w'en you drink her down — Jes lay away ole Trouble, An' dry up all yo' tears; Yo' pleasure sho' to double An' you bound to lose yo' keers. Jes lay away ole Sorrer High upon de shelf; And never mind to-morrer, 'Twill take care of itself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DINNER-PARTY by AMY LOWELL BARS FIGHT, AUGUST 28, 1746 by LUCY TERRY CRUCIFIXION TO THE WORLD BY THE CROSS OF CHRIST by ISAAC WATTS THE DANUBE RIVER by C. HAMILTON AIDE SONNET: 8 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE THUNDER STORM by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD HELL AND HATE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ON THE GROUND OF TRUE AND FALSE RELIGION by JOHN BYROM TO RALPH LEYCESTER, ESQ., IN ANSWER TO A LETTER by JOHN BYROM |