Well, Phillupeeners, how's yo' health?
I don' ax how's yo' playin',
I 'specs de angels heahs by stealth
An' coins it in a sayin'.
I 'specs dey's plannin' big ovations ;
I 'specs dey'll send sum invitations
To all de music-lovin' nations
To bless you Phillupeeners.
Jes' heah 'em once, an' afterwerds
Yo'll heah 'em, heah 'em ever,
De notes dey plays will come in herds
An' heah 'em, heah 'em ever.
Dey'll fust be best, an' den dey'll flee
Right on to find de next degree,
An' still right on until you see
Music, not Phillupeeners.
If you would live anudder life
An' still live dis you lives heah,
If you would turn yo' loss an' strife
To gains dat always gives heah,
If you would lose yo' appertite
Fer all de things dat plagues de sight,
An' think up straight an' feel upright,
Jes' heah dem Phillupeeners.
De white man plays until you dreams
Yo' life's a kind o' story;
De white man plays until you seems
To peep right into glory.
Dat's good enough. Dis world widout it
Would go wid mournin' wropped about it,
But laziness! He jes' cyarn't rout it,
Like dem brown Phillupeeners.
Heah's to de music dat you plays
Upon dem inst'uments,
Heah's to de music dat you lays
Up fer yo' own contents.
Pleah's to yo' sense dat makes yo' luck,
Heah's to yo' Phillupeener pluck,
An' heah's good will from Old Kaintuck
To all you Phillupeeners.
Published in A White Song and a Black One (1909)