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Poem	Fu' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down; Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'. Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up An' baigs me to tek to de flo'? You knows I 's a Christian, good an' strong; I wusship f'om June to June; My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long: I baig you don' fiddle dat chune. I 's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah Whaih de j'ints 's gittin' ol' an' stiff, But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf; W'y, I 's suttain I noticed a w'iff. Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile, [Pg 223]Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'; I 'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile, An' den I 'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'. Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say, An' fiddle it loud an' fas': I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin; De p'esent 's gone back to de pas'. I 'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway; I knows how de backslidah feels; So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.
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