Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THEM COUNTRY FOLKS, by BELLE RICHARDSON HARRISON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THEM COUNTRY FOLKS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Why, hello, jim mccracken, / come, shake er finger, do
Last Line: En murder er chicken en churn.
Subject(s): Country Life; Courtship


"WHY, hello, Jim McCracken,
Come, shake er finger, do;
Whar hev you kep' yose'f, I say,
En me er huntin you?
I've got er invite fur us both—
I 'low you'll want ter go—
Frum them two gals we met las' spring
At Roberson's side show.
When they know that folks is comin',
Them people—so I've hearn—
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the yard,
En they murder er chicken en churn.

"The cross-eyed one is youen's,
En the freckled face is mine.
Behin' them two mules, Buck en Bill,
We'll git out thar by nine.
Jus' dress up in yo' Sunday best;
Put on yo' Cleveland hat,
Them yaller shoes with p'inted toes,
Yo' poky dot cravat.
When they know that folks is comin',
Them people—so I've hearn—
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the yard,
En they murder er chicken en churn."

They found them gals at meetin';
Their beaux wuz settin' nigh;
Two country chaps, that looked like Japs,
Er castin' uv sheep's eye.
"La, Mister Bob en Mister Jim."
They 'lowed when church wuz through,
"Come home en hev er bite with us,
En spen' the evenin', do."
When they know that folks is comin',
Them people—so I've hearn—
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the yard,
En they murder er chicken en churn.

They driv behin' them couples
Fur better than five mile—
The gals would snicker and laugh out—
They couldn't crack er smile.
They kep' behin' the crowd all day,
It made 'em fume and fret,
Them hill-ites hed the inside track,
En they kep' it too, you bet.
Both the gals wuz mighty cordial—
Them country folks, I've hearn,
When they know that comp'ny's comin',
They murder er chicken en churn.

They shuck their han's at partin',
En hoped they'd come ergin.
Them city chaps, they 'lowed they would—
Them hill-ites gin er grin.
They driv on home without er word,
Fur, stranger, they wuz mad,
Ter cut er dash, en make no mash,
It sholy wuz too bad.
Them city chaps don't keer no more
Fur country folks, I've hearn,
That sweep the yard with er broom-sedge broom,
En murder er chicken en churn.





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