{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35592/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35592","id":"gutenberg_35592","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35592","summary":null,"tags":["African Americans -- Music -- History and criticism","Category: History - American","Category: Music","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folk music -- United States -- History and criticism","Folk songs, English -- United States -- History and criticism"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Tor Martin Kristiansen, Joseph Cooper and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  SOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS OF THE NEGRO\n\n  BY W. H. THOMAS, College Station, Texas\n\n\n  _Read before the Folk-Lore Society of Texas, 1912_\n\n\n  PUBLISHED BY THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY OF TEXAS\n\n\n\n\nWILL THOMAS AND THE TEXAS FOLK-LORE SOCIETY\n\n\nNow that this brochure is being reprinted by the Texas Folk-Lore Society,\nI take the opportunity to say a word concerning its author and its\nhistory.\n\nAlthough not a numbered publication, =Some Current Folk-Songs of the Negro=\n(1912) was the first item produced by the Texas Folk-Lore Society. At the\ntime dues to the Society were two-bits a year--not enough to allow a very\nextensive publication. Number I (now reprinted under the title of =Round\nthe Levee=) was not issued until 1916; then it was seven more years before\nanother volume was issued, since which time, 1923, the Society has sent\nout a book annually to its members. The credit for initiating the\nSociety's policy of recording the lore of Texas and the Southwest belongs\nto Will H. Thomas.\n\nAt the time his pamphlet was issued, he was president of the organization,\nto which office he was elected again in 1923. His idea was that people who\nwork with folk-lore should not only collect it but interpret it and also\nenjoy it. This view is expressed in his delightful essay on \"The Decline\nand Decadence of Folk Metaphor,\" in =Publications= Number II (=Coffee in\nthe Gourd=) of the Society.\n\nThe view is thoroughly representative of the man, for Will Thomas was a\nvigorous, sane man with a vigorous, sane mind. He had a sense of humor\nand, therefore, a sense of the fitness of things. For nearly thirty years\nhe taught English in the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, and\nI have often wished that more professors of English in the colleges and\nuniversities over the country saw into the shams and futilities and sheer\nnonsense that passes for \"scholarship\" as thoroughly as he saw into them.\nYet he was tolerant. He was a salt-of-the-earth kind of man.\n\nHe was born of the best of old-time Texas stock on a farm in Fayette\nCounty, January 11, 1880; he got his collegiate training at Austin\nCollege, Sherman, and the University of Texas and then took his Master's\ndegree at Columbia University. He was co-editor, with Stewart Morgan, of\ntwo volumes of essays designed for collegians. He died March 1, 1935.\nGates Thomas, Professor of English in Southwestern State Teachers College\nat San Marcos, who has done notable work in Negro folk songs and who is\none of the nestors and pillars of the Texas Folk-Lore Society, is his\nbrother.\n\n  J. FRANK DOBIE\n  Austin, Texas\n  April, 1936\n\n\n\n\nSOME CURRENT FOLK-SONGS OF THE NEGRO AND THEIR ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION.\n\nBY W. H. THOMAS, COLLEGE STATION, TEXAS.\n\n\n_Mr. President, Members of the Folk-Lore Society, Ladies and Gentlemen:_\n\nI should first like to say a word as to why I have been given the honor of\naddressing this meeting. Mr. Lomax is solely to blame for that. A short\nwhile after this society was organized, Mr. Lomax approached me one day\nwhile I was holding an examination and asked me to join the society and to\nmake a study of the negro songs. He did so, no doubt, out of a knowledge\nof the fact that as I had lived all by life in a part of the State where\nthe negroes are thick, and as I was then devoting my summers to active\nfarming where negroes were employed, I would, therefore, have an excellent\nopportunity for studying the negro and his songs, as the geologist would\nsay, _in situ_.\n\nYou will notice that I have taken as my title, \"Some Current Folk-Songs of\nthe Negro and Their Economic Interpretation.\" Now it is somewhat\nmisleading at this day and time to speak of the negro as a \"folk.\" That\nword seems to me to be applicable only to a people living in an industry\nin which economic function has not been specialized. So it would be more\naccurate to speak of \"negro class lore.\" The class that I am treating of\nis the semi-rural proletariat. So far as my observation goes, the\nproperty-holding negro never sings. You see, property lends\nrespectability, and respectability is too great a burden for any\nliterature to bear, even our own. Although we generally think of beliefs,\ncustoms, and practices, when we hear the word \"folk-lore\" used, I believe\nall treatises on the subject recognize songs, sayings, ballads, and arts\nof all kinds as proper divisions of the subject. So a collection and study\nof the following songs is certainly not out of place on a program got up\nby this society.\n\nNow just one word more under this head. I have found it very difficult to\nkeep separate and distinct the study of folk-lore and the study of\nfolk-psychology. The latter has always been extremely interesting to me;\nhence I can't refrain from sharing with you the two following instances: A\nnegro girl was once attending a protracted meeting when she \"got religion\"\nand went off into a deep swoon, which lasted for two whole days, no food\nor drink being taken in the meantime. A negro explained to me as follows:\n\"Now when that nigger comes to, if she's been possumin', she sho' will be\nhungry; but if she hasn't been possumin', it will be just the same as if\nshe had been eatin' all the time.\" The other instance is that of an old\nnegro who just before he died had been lucky enough to join a burial\nassociation which guaranteed to its members a relatively elaborate\ninterment. So, when this old negro died, the undertaker dressed him out in\na nice black suit, patent leather shoes, laundered shirt and collar, and\nall that. His daughter, in relating the incident after the funeral, said:\n\"Bless your life, when they put Pappy in that coffin, he looked so fine\nthat he just _had_ to open his eyes and look at his self.\"\n\nI imagine that folk-lore appeals differently to different individuals\naccording to what intellectual or cultural interest predominates their\nbeings. I suppose that the first interest in folk-lore was that of the\nantiquarian. Then came the interest of the linguist and the literateur.\nBut it seems to me that if the pursuit of folk-lore is to be thoroughly\nworth while to-day the interest must above all be psychological and\nsociological. At least these are my interests in the subject. For\ninstance, take that piece of well known folk-lore--the belief that by\nhanging a dead snake on a barbed wire fence--one can induce rain in a time\nof drought. I would give almost anything to know just how the two ideas\n\"hanging a snake on a fence\" and \"raining\" were ever associated. But I can\nperhaps still better illustrate my attitude by relating a piece of Herbert\nSpencerian lore. Herbert Spencer tells in his autobiography of this\nincident that he met with while on one of his annual trips to Scotland.\nThe house at which he was a guest contained a room which bore the\nreputation of being haunted. It was in this room that Herbert Spencer was\nasked to sleep. So he did and lay awake most of the night, though not out\nof fear that the ghost would choose that particular night to pay a visit,\nbut out of a philosophical curiosity to figure out the origin of such a\n\"fool\" belief.\n\nIn reference to these songs, when I say that I am interested in a study of\norigins, I do not mean the origin of any particular song, but the origin\nof the songs as a social phenomenon. Or to put it interrogatively, why do\nthe members of this particular class sing, and why do their songs contain\nthe thoughts that they do?\n\nI believe it is pretty generally agreed today that any well-defined period\nof literature is merely the reflection of some great economic change. I\nnotice that the critics have begun to speak of Victorian literature as\nmerely the ornament of nineteenth century prosperity--the prosperity that\nwas incident to the utilization of steam as motive power.\n\nNow a great change has come into the negro's economic life within the past\ntwo decades. Its causes have been two. He has come into competition with\nthe European immigrant, whose staying qualities are much greater than his;\nand agriculture has been changing from a feudalistic to a capitalistic\nbasis, which requires a greater technical ability than the negro\npossesses. The result is that he is being steadily pushed into the less\ninviting and less secure occupations. To go into the intricacies of my\nthesis would be to abuse the privilege of the program; so I shall have to\ncontent myself with merely stating it. The negro, then, sings because he\nis losing his economic foothold. This economic insecurity has interfered\nmost seriously with those two primal necessities--work and love--and you\nwill notice that the thoughts in all these songs cluster around these two\nideas.\n\nSo much for the interpretation; now for the appreciation. It has been my\nexperience that where a knowledge of the negro's every day, or rather\nevery-night, life is lacking, the appreciation of these songs is never\nvery keen. Hence, in order to make it certain that you will appreciate\nthese songs, I deem it necessary to try to acquaint you with the life of\none of the \"songsters.\" Otherwise I am afraid that too many of you will\nlook upon these songs as absolutely puerile. Remember that a greater man\nthan you or I once declared the ancient ballads to be without merit and\nalso maintained that he could write, on the spur of the moment, a stanza\nthat was just as good and that contained just as much meaning. Whereupon,\nbeing challenged he sat down and wrote:\n\n  \"I put my hat upon my head and went into the Strand,\n  And there I met another man with his hat in his hand.\"\n\nThe colored semi-rural proletarian, then--how shall I describe him so that\nyou may see him in your mind's eye, as I read these songs? I don't know\nhow many of you are already acquainted with him, but, if any of you have\never tried to employ him profitably, I am sure you will never forget him.\nPerhaps I can picture him best by using the method of contrast. Let us\nfollow one as he works with a white man, the latter, of course, being\nboss. We shall start with the morning.\n\nThe white man rises early and eats his breakfast. My proletarian doesn't\nrise at all for the chances are that he has never gone to bed. At noon\nthey \"knock off.\" While the white man is preparing to eat his lunch, the\n\"nigger\" has already done so and is up in the bed of a wagon or on a plank\nunderneath a tree fast asleep, usually with his head in the sun. At\nnightfall, the white man eats supper and spends the evening reading or\nwith his family. Not so my proletarian. He generally borrows thirty-five\ncents from the white man, steps out the back gate, gives a shrill whistle\nor two, and allows how he believes he'll \"step off a piece to-night.\"\n\nAs I have not been on the farm much for the last two years. I have been\nunable to use the Boswellian method of recording these songs but have had\nto depend mostly on memory. The result is that some of them are not\ncomplete and some may not be textually correct. Of course the collection\nis not anything like an exhaustive one.\n\nIf you consider these songs as the negro's literature, you will notice\nsome striking parallels between its history and that of English\nliterature. As all of you know, English literature for several centuries\nwas little more than paraphrases of various parts of the Bible. The first\nsongs I shall read you are clearly not indigenous but are merely revamping\nthe Biblical incidents and reflections of the sect disputes of the whites.\nThe first song here presented is one that I heard twenty years ago as it\nwas sung on the banks of a creek at a \"big baptizing.\" It is entitled:\n\nTELL ALL THE MEMBERS I'M A NEW BORN.\n\n  I went to the valley on a cloudy day.\n     O good Lord!\n  My soul got so happy that I couldn't get away.\n\n  Chorus.\n\n  Tell all the members I'm a new-born,\n  I'm a new-born, I'm a new-born,\n  O Lord!\n  I'm a new-born baby, born in the manger,\n  Tell all the members I'm a new-born.\n\n  Read the Scriptures, I am told,\n  Read about the garment Achan stole.\n\n  Chorus.\n\n  Away over yonder in the harvest fields,\n     O good Lord!\n  Angels working with the chariot wheels.\n\n  Chorus.\n\n  Away over yonder, got nothing to do,\n     O good Lord!\n  But to walk about Heaven and shout Halloo.\n\n  Chorus.\n\n  I'm so glad, I don't know what about,\n     O good Lord!\n  Sprinkling and pourings done played out.\n\n  Chorus.\n\nHere are two more of the same kind:\n\nPREACHING IN THE WILDERNESS.\n\n  Daniel in that lion's den,\n  He called God A'mighty for to be his friend;\n  Read a little further, 'bout the latter clause:\n  The angel locked them lions' jaws.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n  Oh, Daniel, hallelujah;\n  Oh, Daniel, preaching in that wilderness.\n\n  Old man Adam, never been out;\n  Devil get in him, he'll jump up and shout;\n  He'll shout till he give a poor sister a blow,\n  Then he'll stop right still and he'll shout no more.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n  P's for peter; in his word\n  He tells us all not to judge;\n  Read a little further and you'll find it there,\n  I knows the tree by the fruit it bear.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n\nSAVE ME FROM SINKING DOWN.\n\n  Seven stars in his right hand,\n    Save me from sinking down.\n  All stars move at his command,\n    Save me from sinking down.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n  Oh, my Lord, save me from sinking down.\n\n  John was a Baptist, so am I,\n    Save me from sinking down.\n  And he heard poor Israel's cry,\n    Save us from sinking down.\n\nThe following is only a snatch, but it is enough to show that the economic\nfactor was not yet predominant. In it we still see traces of the Bible's\ninfluence:\n\n  O Lord, sinner, you got to die,\n    It may be to-day or to-morrow.\n  You can't tell the minute or the hour,\n    But, sinner, you've got to die.\n\n  Refrain.\n\nWe now come to songs originated by the present generation of negroes. They\nall deal with work and love. The following might be entitled:\n\nTHE SONG OF THE FORTUNATE ONE.\n\n  The reason why I don't work so hard,\n  I got a gal in the white folks' yard;\n  And every night about half past eight,\n  I steps in through the white man's gate;\n  And she brings the butter, and the bread, and the lard;\n  That's the reason why I don't work so hard.\n\nThe next I have termed the \"Skinner's Song.\" Skinner is the vernacular for\nteamster. The negro seldom carries a watch, but still uses the sun as a\nchronometer; a watch perhaps would be too suggestive of regularity.\nPicture to yourself several negroes working on a levee as teamsters. About\nfive o'clock you would hear this:\n\n  I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt high;\n  I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye;\n  And he wunk his eye, and he wunk his eye,\n  I lookt at the Cap'n and he wunk his eye.\n\n  I lookt at the sun and the sun lookt red;\n  I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head;\n  And he turned his head, and he turned his head,\n  I lookt at the Cap'n and he turned his head.\n\nThe negro occasionally practices introspection. When he does, you are\nlikely to hear something like this:\n\n  White folks are all time bragging,\n    Lord, Lord, Lord,\n  'Bout a nigger ain't nothing but waggin,\n    Lord, Lord, Lord.\n\nOr,\n\n  White folks goes to college; niggers to the field;\n  White folks learn to read and write; niggers learn to steal.\n\nOr,\n\n  Beauty's skin deep, but ugly's to the bone.\n  Beauty soon fades, but ugly holds its own.\n\nThe following is the only song in which I think I detect insincerity. Now\nthe negro may have periods of despondency, but I have never been able to\ndetect them.\n\nTHE RAILROAD BLUES.\n\n  I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare,\n  I got the blues, but I haven't got the fare,\n    I got the blues, but I am too damn'd mean to cry.\n\n  Some folks say the rolling blues ain't bad;\n  Well, it must not 'a' been the blues my baby had.\n\n  Oh! where was you when the rolling mill burned down?\n  On the levee camp about fifteen miles from town\n\n  My mother's dead, my sister's gone astray,\n  And that is why this poor boy is here to-day.\n\nIf any of you have high ideas about the universal sacredness of domestic\nties, prepare to shed them now. It has often been said that the negro is a\nbackward race. But this is not true. In fact, he is very forward. He had\ninvented trial marriage before sociology was a science.\n\nThe following songs are only too realistic:\n\nFIRST.\n\n  I dreamt last night I was walking around,\n  I met that nigger and I knocked her down;\n  I knocked her down and I started to run,\n  Till the sheriff done stopped me with his Gatling gun.\n\n  I made a good run, but I run too slow,\n  He landed me over in the Jericho;\n  I started to run off down the track,\n  But they put me on the train and brought me back.\n\n\nSECOND.\n\n  Says, when I die,\n    Bury me in black,\n  For if you love that of woman of mine,\n    I'll come a sneakin' back;\n  For if you love that woman of mine,\n    I'll come a sneakin' back.\n\n\nTHIRD.\n\n  If you don't quit monkeying with my Lulu,\n    I'll tell you what I'll do;\n  I'll fling around your heart with my razor;\n    I'll shoot you through and through.\n\n\nThat the negro's esthetic nature may be improving is indicated by the\nfollowing song. For tremendousness of comparison, I know nothing to equal\nit. It is entitled:\n\nTHE BROWN-SKINNED WOMAN.\n\n  A brown-skinned woman and she's chocolate to the bone.\n  A brown-skinned woman and she smells like toilet soap.\n  A black-skinned woman and she smells like a billy goat.\n  A brown-skinned woman makes a freight train slip and slide.\n  A brown-skinned woman makes an engine stop and blow.\n  A brown-skinned woman makes a bulldog break his chain.\n  A brown-skinned woman makes a preacher lay his Bible down.\n  I married a woman; she was even tailor made.\n\nYou will find plenty of economics in the following song. The present-day\nnegro early made that most fatal of all discoveries: namely, that a man\ncan really live in this world without working. Hence his _beau ideal_ is\nthe gambler, and his _bete noir_ is the county jail or the penitentiary.\n\nTHE GAMBLER'S PANTS.\n\n  What kind of pants does a gambler wear?\n  Great big stripes, cost nine a pair.\n\n\nJACK O' DIAMONDS.\n\n  Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds,\n  Jack o' Diamonds is a hard card to roll.\n\n  Says, whenever I gets in jail,\n  Jack o' Diamonds goes my bail;\n  And I never, Lord, I never,\n  Lord, I never was so hard up before.\n\n  You may work me in the winter,\n  You may work me in the fall;\n  I'll get e-ven, I'll get e-ven,\n  I'll get even through that long summer's day.\n\n  Jack o' Diamonds took my money,\n  And the piker got my clothes;\n  And I ne-e-ver, and I ne-e-ver,\n  Lord, I never was so hard run before.\n\n  Says, whenever I gets in jail,\n  I'se got a Cap'n goes my bail;\n  And a Lu-u-la, and a Lu-u-la,\n  And a Lulu that's a hard-working chile.\n\n\nTO HUNTSVILLE.\n\n  The jurymen found me guilty, the judge he did say:\n    \"This man's convicted to Huntsville, poor boy,\n  For ten long years to stay.\"\n\n  My mammy said, \"It's a pity.\" My woman she did say:\n    \"They're taking my man to Huntsville, poor boy,\n  For ten long years to stay.\"\n\n  Upon that station platform we all stood waiting that day,\n    Awaiting that train for Huntsville, poor boy,\n  For ten long years to stay.\n\n  The train ran into the station, the sheriff he did say:\n    \"Get on this train for Huntsville, poor boy,\n  For ten long years to stay.\"\n\n  Now, if you see my Lula, please tell her for me,\n    I've done quit drinking and gambling, poor boy,\n  And getting on my sprees.\n\n\nDON'T LET YOUR WATCH RUN DOWN, CAP'N.\n\n  Working on the section, dollar and a half a day,\n    Working for my Lula; getting more than pay, Cap'n,\n  Getting more than pay.\n\n  Working on the railroad, mud up to my knees,\n    Working for my Lula; she's a hard old girl to please, Cap'n,\n  She's a hard girl to please.\n    So don't let your watch run down, Cap'n,\n    Don't let your watch run down.\n\n\nBABY, TAKE A LOOK AT ME.\n\n  I went to the jail house and fell on my knees,\n  The first thing I noticed was a big pan of peas.\n  The peas was hard and the bacon was fat;\n  Says, your oughter seen the niggers that was grabbin' at that.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n  Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me!\n\n  Brandy, whisky, Devil's Island gin,\n  Doctor said it would kill him, but he didn't tell him when.\n\n  Refrain.\n\n  Oh, Lord, Baby, take a look at me!\n\n\nDON'T YOU LEAVE ME HERE.\n\n  Don't you leave me here, don't you leave me here,\n  For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure.\n  They'll arrest me sure.\n  For if you leave me here, babe, they'll arrest me sure.\n\n  Don't leave me here, don't leave me here,\n  For if you leave me here, you'll leave a dime for beer.\n\n  Why don't you be like me, why don't you be like me?\n  Quit drinking whisky, babe, let the cocaine be.\n\n  It's a mean man that won't treat his woman right.\n\n\nThe following is a tragedy in nine acts:\n\nFRANKIE.\n\n  Frankie was a good girl, as everybody knows,\n  She paid a hundred dollars for Albert a suit of clothes;\n  He was her man, babe, but she shot him down.\n\n  Frankie went to the bar-keeper's to get a bottle of beer;\n  She says to the bar-keeper: \"Has my living babe been here?\"\n  He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong.\n\n  The bar-keeper says to Frankie: \"I ain't going to tell you no lie,\n  Albert passed 'long here walking about an hour ago with a nigger\n      named Alkali.\"\n  He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong.\n\n  Frankie went to Albert's house; she didn't go for fun;\n  For, underneath her apron was a blue-barrel 41.\n  He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong.\n\n  When Frankie got to Albert's house, she didn't say a word,\n  But she cut down upon poor Albert just like he was a bird.\n  He was her man, babe, but she shot him down.\n\n  When Frankie left Albert's house, she lit out in a run,\n  For, underneath her apron was a smoking 41.\n  He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong.\n\n  \"Roll me over, doctor, roll me over slow,\n  Cause, when you rolls me over, them bullets hurt me so;\n  I was her man, babe, but she shot me down.\"\n\n  Frankie went to the church house and fell upon her knees,\n  Crying \"Lord 'a' mercy, won't you give my heart some ease?\n  He was my man, babe, but I shot him down.\"\n\n  Rubber-tired buggy, decorated hack,\n  They took him to the graveyard, but they couldn't bring him back.\n  He was her man, babe, but he done her wrong.\n\nAnd, once more, the female of the species was more deadly than the male.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _italics_.\n\nPassages in bold are indicated by =bold=.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Some Current Folk-Songs of the Negro","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":4011}