Sharpen yo' razors, bring yo' ladies
Down to de old Town Hall,
Dar's going to be a ball,
Come niggers, come one and all.
De walk fo' de cake will soon be commencin, music will play sublime,
Dem Smoky Mokes am gwine to cut a dash,
Strike up de old ragtime.
Judges in de gall'ry say “Oh me.” “Oh my.”
'Taint no use to talk, dey'll surely win dis cake-walk,
Watch dem stylish niggers, full of fun and jokes,
Give 'em de prize, dar ain't no flies upon dem Smoky Mokes.
See all de gals dressed up in de fashion,
Doing de Pasmala,
Wid niggers as black as tar,
Dey promenade to de bar,
Dem big Smoky Mokes dey leads de procession, look at de hit dey make,
As sure's yer born dem coons has got a cinch,
Dey's gwine to win dat cake.