When You Want a Bellyful
Tearin' piece o' one,
Mek up fire, wash you' pot,
Full i' wid cockstone.
Nuttin' good as cockstone soup
For a bellyful;
Only, when you use i' hot,
You can sweat no bull.
An' to mek you know de trut',
Dere's anedder flaw;
Ef you use too much o' i',
It wi' paunch you' maw.
Growin' wid de fat blue corn,
Pretty cockstone peas --
Lilly blossom, vi'let-like,
Drawin' wuker bees--
We look on dem growin' dere,
Pokin' up dem head,
Lilly, lilly, t'rough de corn,
Till de pod dem shed.
An' we watch de all-green pods
Stripin' bit by bit;
Green leaves gettin' yellow coat,
Showin dey were fit.
So we went an' pull dem up,
Reaped a goodly lot,
Shell some o' de pinkish grain,
Put dem in a pot.
But I tell you, Sir, again,
Cockstone soup no good;
From experience I fink
'Tis de wus' o' food.
When de reapin'-time come roun ',
I dry fe me part;
Sellin i', when it get scarce,
For a bob a quart.
When you need a bellyful,
Grip!n' piece o' one,
Shub up fire under pot,
Put in dry cockstone.