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;
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: