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.