Little Alabama Coon

I ’s a little Alabama Coon,   And I has n’t been born very long; I ’member seein’ a great big round moon;   I ’member hearin’ one sweet song. When dey tote me down to de cotton field,   Dar I roll and I tumble in de sun; While my daddy pick de cotton, mammy watch me grow,   And dis am de song she sung: Go to sleep, my little pickaninny,—   Brer’ Fox ’ll catch you if yo’ don’t; Slumber on de bosom of yo’ ole Mammy Jinny,—   Mammy’s gwine to swat yo’ if you won’t.             Sh! sh! sh!         Lu-la, lu-la lu-la lu-la lu! Underneaf de silver Southern moon;         Rock-a-by! hush-a-by!         Mammy’s little baby, Mammy’s little Alabama Coon. Dis hyar little Alabama Coon   Specks to be a growed-up man some day; Dey ’s gwine to christen me hyar very soon,—   My name ’s gwine to be “Henry Clay.” When I ’s big, I ’s gwine to wed a yellow gal;   Den we ’ll hab pickaninnies ob our own; Den dat yellow gal shall rock ’em on her bosom,   And dis am de song she ’ll croon: Go to sleep, my little pickaninny,—   Brer’ Fox ’ll catch you if yo’ don’t; Slumber on de bosom of yo’ ole Mammy Jinny,—   Mammy’s gwine to swat yo’ if you won’t.             Sh! sh! sh!         Lu-la, lu-la lu-la lu-la lu! Underneaf de silver Southern moon;         Rock-a-by! hush-a-by!         Mammy’s little baby, Mammy’s little Alabama Coon.