O ALL you little blackey tops, Pray don't you eat my father's crops, While I lie down to take a nap. Shua-O! Shua-O! If father he perchance should come, With his cocked hat and his long gun, Then you must fly and I must run. Shua-O! Shua-O! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHTMARE, FR. IOLANTHE by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 22. AL-BASIT by EDWIN ARNOLD LINCOLN'S BIRTHDAY by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS RHODE ISLAND by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES SECTION GANG: DAYBREAK by NORMAN BOLKER FOR ONE LATELY BEREFT by MARGARET E. BRUNER |