Lyrics:
Thar is gwine to be a festival this evenin',
And a gatherin' of color mighty rare;
Thar'll be noted individuals of prominent distinctiveness,
To permeate the colored atmosphere;
Sunny Africa's Four Hundred's gwine to be thar,
To do honor to my lovely fiancée;
Thar will be a grand ovation of especial ostentation,
When the parson gives the dusky bride away!
chorus:
My gal is a high-born lady,
She's black but not too shady,
Feathered like a peacock, just as gay;
She is not colored, she was born that way.
I'm proud of my black Venus,
No coon can come between us.
'Long the line they can't outshine
This high-born gal of mine! (repeat chorus)
When the preacher man propounds the vital question,
“Does ye' take the gal for better of for wuss?,”
I will feel as if my soul had left my body, gone to glory,
And I know my heart will make an awful fuss.
I anticipates a very funny feelin',
Nigger's eyeballs like a diamond sure to shine;
But I'll bask in honeyed clover when the ceremony's over
And I press the ruby lips of baby mine!
