No use tawkin,’ sistah Ruffle
Am a gittin’ out de kinks;
Gittin’ up to date in fashun,
She out-dresses sistah Jinks;
Got a bran new dress o’ satin,
Wid a hot stuff ruffl’d skirt;
Way she’s lookin’ ebry dahky
At her grinn’d an’ tried to flirt.
An’ she’s gone an’ got a mobeel
Cumin’ down klah to her feet;
One dem silks trimm’d in white kawdin,’
It’s a stunnah, kain’t be beet;
An’ her hat, oh goodness grashus!
Lak a flowah bed o’ bloom;
An’ she fewmigate de breezes,
Wid de sweetes’ kine o’ ’fewme.
Oh, yo’ know ol’ sistah Ruffle,
Ustah wash erbout de town;
Had a husbahn dat was leg-bowl,
Jes’ as ugly as a clown;
Yes de ol’ gal we’ de goggles,
Hobblin’ ’roun’ wid roomotick,
Diden’ hab ’em on dat ’kayshun,
She was flouncin’ double quick.
Doan’ yo’ know, she am bawlhaided,
But dat dey she we’ er wig;
Dog mah cats ef yo’ kood tell it,
Ef yo’ could I’d dance’d a jig;
Twasn’t made fum hyah dat’s kinky,
But fum dat call’d awbun hyah;
Looks so poody slick, an’ wabey,
Kine yo’ see de white fo’ks wah.
Had it done an’ roll’d in ribbon,
On de pompydoro style;
Had deez great big whut yo’ call ’em?
Hyahpins yais yo’ right mah chile;
At de sides she lef’ it bushy
Fo’ to kibbah up her yeahs;
Kose she seed de white fo’ks do it
Fo’ de las’ free o’ fo’ yeahs.
Yais, she had on glasses, go ’way!
Dem dat habs de gol’en rim
An’ a chain wuz fas’en to ’em,
Cumin’ down beneef her chin;
An’ her bowkey, go’ way honey!
It wahs flowahs o’ all kine,
Oh, it look’d mos’ loud an’ spickyus,
Wish’d de lawd it had bin mine.
Oddah seed her when she pass’d us,
Thow’d her head clah to de cloud;
Switch’d her se’f an’ kooden’ see us,
Kaze she’s togg’d up mos’ to loud;
Now an’ den shed’ gib us, honey,
Whut yo’ call de cake wa’k gran’,
An’ her big feet cut no figgah;
Was’ she right? she beet de ban’.
When she’d pass sto’ windahs, honey,
She’d size up her se’f an’ smile;
Twis’ her-se’f an’ lif her trailah,
Cose she tho’wt she’s poody, chile;
Why, I know’d dat dah ol’ dahky
When she haden’ braid to eat;
When it cum to shoes an’ sockin’s,
Dey was stranjahs to her feet.
Now she needn’t be o’ spreadin’
On befo’ me any ahs,
Kaze de Lawd in heaben knows it,
Dat I ’bout her doesn’t kyahs;
She jes’ lately got a penshun,
An’ it’s sortah swell’d her haid,
It’s a wondah diden’ bus’ it,
An’ de dahky isn’t daid.
Doan’ yo’ ’membah when she usetah
Wah dat bumzeen yallah dress?
Whah she’s gwine to git de nex’ one,
Kep’ her allus on de guess;
Whut I say a ’bout sum dahkies,
Ef dey git a rag er to,
’Speshly dems po’ as Jobe’s tukehy,
Dey’ll wa’k obah me an’ yo’.
I jes’ feed dem kine o’ dahkies,
Wid er big long hanel spoon;
Bet dey needen’ take dis sistah,
Fo’ er hankshef haided coon;
Kaze it’s bawn in all ah kin fo’ks,
To be stylish an’ be proud,
Nebbah habs dis lady, honey,
To sech dahkies ebah bow’d.
