| James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. |
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| Hog Meat |
| | | Daniel Webster Davis |
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| DEZE eatin’ folks may tell me ub de gloriz ub spring lam’, | |
| An’ de toofsumnis ub tuckey et wid cel’ry an’ wid jam; | |
| Ub beef-st’ak fried wid unyuns, an’ sezoned up so fine— | |
| But you’ jes’ kin gimme hog-meat, an’ I’m happy all de time. | |
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| When de fros’ is on de pun’kin an’ de sno’-flakes in de ar’, | 5 |
| I den begin rejoicin’—hog-killin’ time is near; | |
| An’ de vizhuns ub de fucher den fill my nightly dreams, | |
| Fur de time is fas’ a-comin’ fur de ’lishus pork an’ beans. | |
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| We folks dat’s frum de kuntry may be behin’ de sun— | |
| We don’t like city eatin’s, wid beefsteaks dat ain’ done— | 10 |
| ’Dough mutton chops is splendid, an’ dem veal cutlits fine, | |
| To me ’tain’t like a sphar-rib, or gret big chunk ub chine. | |
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| Jes’ talk to me ’bout hog-meat, ef yo’ want to see me pleased, | |
| Fur biled wid beans tiz gor’jus, or made in hog-head cheese; | |
| An’ I could jes’ be happy, ’dout money, cloze or house, | 15 |
| Wid plenty yurz an’ pig feet made in ol’-fashun “souse.” | |
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| I ’fess I’m only humun, I hab my joys an’ cares— | |
| Sum days de clouds hang hebby, sum days de skies ar’ fair; | |
| But I forgib my in’miz, my heart is free frum hate, | |
| When my bread is filled wid cracklins an’ dar’s chidlins on my plate. | 20 |
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| ’Dough ’possum meat is glo’yus wid ’taters in de pan, | |
| But put ’longside pork sassage it takes a backward stan’; | |
| Ub all yer fancy eatin’s, jes gib to me fur mine | |
| Sum souse or pork or chidlins, sum sphar-rib, or de chine. | |
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