III. Songs From Southern Chain Gangs 58-84
Ain't No Mo' Cane on de Brazis -58
Black Betty - 60
The Hammer Song - 61
Rosie - 62
Ol Rattler - 66
Stewball - 68
De Midnight Special - 71
Long Gone - 75
Great God-a'mighty - 79
Jumpin'Judy - 82
Goin' Home - 84
-----------------------------------------------------
Thirty men in stripes are "flat-weeding" a ditch, every hoe strikes the ground at the same instant. The driver walks his horse behind them, shotgun across the pommel of his saddle. Guards, black trusties, ready and eager to shoot down any man who makes a break for freedom—if one kills his man, it may mean a pardon or a parole—pace behind the gang. The sun stands hot and burning overhead and the bodies of the men sway easily to the swing of their arms and the rhythm of the work. Presently some big buck with a warm, powerful voice throws back his head and begins "Rosie," "Stewball," or "Great God-a'mighty." At the chorus the gang joins in with a full-throated response, and the voices blend into a strange harmony where, perhaps, no voice is on pitch. Thus the song is begun, and thus it goes on through the "long, hot, summer day"j first one leader and then another takes it up and sings his favorite stanzas, with the probable addition of some comment on the cruelty of the sun, the captain, his woman, or his "grea' long time." "While de blood's runnin' warm," some one of the men will shout out in a rhythmic interjection, "Talk it to time, now!" or "It's hard, boys, it's hard," or "Tell 'em about it!" —just as there are frequent exclamations during a Negro sermon.
No stanza is ever sung in the same way as another. The Negroes play with the melody and the rhythm, vary them, keep silent, burst out suddenly, and impose a great variety of ornament and original deviation upon the pattern of the tune. But the whole is dominated and swept along by the heavy rhythm of the hoes. It is in this way that the songs should be sung. Get the "wham!—wham!—wham!" of the big splay feet, the axes, the hoes, firmly and heavily in mind. Open your mouth and shout the songs. They are not gentle or sedate or subtle. They are the work-songs of driven, despairing men, who sing about their troubles to be rid of them.
When you think I'm laughin', I'm laughin' to keep from cryin'
AIN' NO MO' CANE ON DE BRAZIS*
It ain' no mo' cane on de Brazis,
O------o-------o----------,
Done groun' it all in molazzis,
O------o——o----------.
Better git yo' overcoat ready,
Well, it's comin' up a norther.
Well, de captain standin' an' lookin' an' cryin',
Well, it's gittin' so col', my row's behin'.
Cap'n, doncha do me like you did po' Shine,
Drive dat bully till he went stone-blin'.
Cap'n, cap'n, you mus' be blin',
Keep on holl'in' an' I'm almos' flyin'
One o' dese mornin's, an' it won' be long,
You gonna call me an' I'll be gone.
Ninety-nine years so jumpin' long,
To be here rollin' an' cain' go home.
[*From the Central State Farm near Houston, Texas- sung by Mexico, Lightnin', and Dave Tippini]
Ef I had a sentence like ninety-nine years,
All de dogs on de Brazis won' keep me here.
I b'lieve I'll go to de Brazis line,
Ef I leave you here, gonna think I's flyin'.
B'lieve I'll do like ol' Riley,
Ol' Riley walked de Brazis.
Well, de dog-sergeant got worried an' couldn' go,
Ol' Rattler went to howlin' 'cause de tracks too ol'.
Oughta come on de river in 1904,
You could fin' a dead man on every turn row.
Oughta come on de river in 1910,
Dey was drivin' de women des like de men.
Wake up, dead man, an' help me drive my row,
Wake up, dead man, an' help me drive my row.
Some in de buildin' an' some on de farm,
Some in de graveyard, some goin' home.
I looked at my Ol' Hannah, an' she's turnin' red,
I looked at my podner an' he's almos' dead.
Wake up, lifetime, hold up yo' head,
Well, you may get a pardon an' you may drop dead.
Well, I wonder what's de matter, somepin' mus' be wrong,
We're still here rollin', Shorty George done gone,
Go down, OP Hannah, doncha rise no mo',
Ef you rise any mo' bring judgment day.
[* The sun, which gets hot in South Texas. See page 199 for note on Shorty George.]
BLACK BETTY
Black Betty is not another Frankie, nor yet a two-timing woman that a man can moan his blues about. She is the whip that was and is used in some Southern prisons. A convict on the Darrington State Farm in Texas, where, by the way, whipping has been practically discontinued, laughed at Black Betty and mimicked her conversation in the following song.
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bam-ba-lamb,
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bambalamb,
Black Betty had a baby,
Bambalamb,
Black Betty had a baby,
Bambalamb.
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bam-ba-lamb,
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bam-ba-lamb,
It de cap'n's baby,
Bam-ba-lamb,
It de cap'n's baby,
Bam-ba-lamb.
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bambalamb,
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bambalamb,
But she didn' feed de baby,
Bambalamb,
But she didn' feed de baby,
Bambalamb.
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bambalamb,
Oh, Lawd, Black Betty,
Bambalamb,
Black Betty, where'd you come from?
Bambalamb,
Black Betty, where'd you come from?
Bambalamb.
THE HAMMER SONG
This work chant is to the same air as "Black Betty."
Oh, my hammer,
Hammer ring,
Oh, my hammer,
Hammer ring,
Ringin' on de buildin',
Hammer ring,
Ringin' on de building
Hammer ring,
Doncha hear dat hammer?
Hammer ring,
Doncha hear dat hammer?
Hammer ring,
She's ringin' like jedgment,
Hammer ring,
She's ringin' like jedgment,
Hammer ring.
Oh, Lawd, dat hammer,
Hammer ring,
Oh, Lawd, dat hammer,
Hammer ring.
ROSIE
The authorities of the Mississippi State Farm occasionally allow the Negro men to entertain their feminine visitors as they please. Rosie, we think, is the prison counterpart of Mademoiselle from Armentieres, who comforted so many American soldiers during the last war. At any rate she has been immortalized in what is, perhaps, the most stirring of all prison work songs. This song, shouted out all day long under the "hot boiling sun" of Parchman, Mississippi, filled full of a fierce and bitter despair, can be compared in its effect on the hearer only with that famous English broadside, "Sam Hall." A group of convicts at Camp No. 1 of the Mississippi State Farm sang it for us late one evening after they had come in from a day's work in the fields, and what they sang is essentially unreproducible; for along with the singing one must hear the beat of their hoes on the hard ground, the shouted exclamations at intervals in the song—"Talk it to time,
now!'* "Explain it to 'e.m!" "Dat's all right, now!" Over all throbs the strange, wild harmony, as you see the somber iron bars, groups of men in striped clothes, guards lolling and listening, gun on knee.
Ain' but de one thing I done wrong, Ain' but de one thing I done wrong, Ain' but de one thing I done wrong, Stayed in Mis'sippi jes' a day too long,
Day too long, Lawdy, day too. long, Stayed in Mis'sippi jes' a day too long.
Chorus:
O Rosie, oho,
O Rosie, oh, Lawd, gal.
O Rosie, oho,
O Rosie, oh, Lawd, gal.
I'm in trouble down on de farm, I'm in trouble down on de farm, I'm in trouble down on de farm, I'm in trouble, Lawdy, all day long, All day long, honey, all day long, I'm in trouble, honey, all day long.
Chorus:
O Rosie, oho,
O Rosie, oh, Lawd, gal.
O Rosie, oho,
O Rosie, oh, Lawd, gal.
Think I'll jump in forty foot of water, Over my head, Lawdy, over my head.
You needn' worry, you kin take yo' time, Kin give me ninety an' still have nine [years'].
Oh, I wonder who got de sergeant Down on me, Lawdy, down on me.
Some ol' snitcher mus' got de sergeant Down on me, Lawdy, down on me.
Ef I don' kill him, I'm gonna fix him so He won' be snitchin' on me no mo'. *
Lil baby Franklin wasn' but nine days ol', Stuck his finger in a crawfish holej
Crawfish back back an' he wunk one eye, "Lil baby Franklin, you is born to die."
* * *
Ain' but de one thing worries my min', My cheatin' woman an' my grea' long time.
She says she loves me, but I b'lieve she's lyin', Hasn' been to see me in a grea' long time.
Well, this keepin' Rosie sho is hard, Dress she wo' it cos' a dollar a yard.
Wake up, Rosie, an' turn up yo' clo'es, May be de las' time, I don't know.
I don' wan' ev'ything I see,
Jes' want dat lil bit you promised me.
If they mistreat me, tell you what I'll do, I'll cut dis steel an' bring it home to you.
Come an' git me an' a-take me home, Dese lifetime devils, dey won' let me 'lone.
Well, I come in here wid a hundred years, Tree fall on me, I don' bit mo' keer.
Axes a-walkin', chipses a-talkin', All day long, honey, all day long.
O Rosie, oho,
O Rosie, oh, Lawd, gal.
OL' RATTLER
Mose Platt ("spells it P-L-A-W-P [P-L-A-double T], jes' lak you plait a whip")? alias Big Foot Rock, tells how he ran away from prison upon a time, how "ol' Rattler, de fastes' an' de smellin'es' bleedhoun' in de South" trailed and treed him.
Ef you wants to hear ol' Rattler moan, Heah, Rattler, heah,
Jes' put him on a nigger gone, Heah, Rattler, heah.
Refrain: Heah, Rattler,
Heah, Rattler, heah,
Heah, Rattler,
Heah, Rattler, heah.
B'lieve to my soul dere's a nigger gone,
Heah, Rattler, heah, He went right down through dat corn, Heah, Rattler, heah.
He cross right 'cross dat ol' foot log, I b'lieve to my soul da's a nigger dog.
I think I hear a horn blow,
Ef I trip dis time, I'll trip no mo'.
You got to ride, ride, sergeant, OP Rock's walkin' de Brazos.
Got a baby here, got a baby, there, Gonna take my baby to the worl'y fair.
Dey tell me one, dey tell me two,
Now ef you stay on de groun' Rattler'U sho ketch you.
OP Rattler jumped a cottontail, Run dat fool off de trail.
I wouldn' stop ef I see myse'f dyin*, I'm on my way to de long-leaf pine.
Now I run till I'm almos' blin', I'm on my way to de long-leaf pine.
I didn' have no time to make no thimpathee, My nighes' route was up a tree.
I had a face all full of frowns,
You won' never ketch me on de groun'.
Now, hoP on, boys, let's stop an' see, Dey got Big Foot Rock settin' in a tree.
STEWBALL
Skew Ball was an Irish race horse of broadside fame. The song came over to America and was turned into a work song by the slaves as some of the quoted stanzas will testify. And now Skew Ball has become "Stewball" and his race is sung in the prisons of Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, and Tennessee. It is the most widely known of the chain-gang songs in the states we visited, and by far the most constant as to tune and words.
The following stanza illustrates the way Stewball is sung by a gang of Negro workmen in the fields. The accents mark the hoe or ax blows.
Leader Chorus
Way out in Unh-hunh—
Californy, Unh-hunh—
Where oP Stewball Unh-hunh—
Was born, Was born—
All de jockeys Unh-hunh—
In de country Unh-hunh—
Said he blew there Unh-hunh—
In a storm, In a storm—
In a storm, man, Unh-hunh—
In a storm. In a storm.
OP Stewball was a fas' hoss. I wish he was mine. He never drunk water, but always drunk wine,
Drunk wine, man; drunk wine. (Chorus, etc.; also for each following stanza.)
OP Stewball was a white horse befo' dey painted him red. But he winned a great forchun jes' befo' he fell dead, Fell dead, manj fell dead.
Well, his bridle was silver an' his saddle was gol', An' de price on his blanket hasn't never been tol', Been tol', man; been tol'.
There's a big day in Dallas: doncha wish you was there? ' You could bet yo' las' dolluh on dat iron-gray mare, Gray mare, man; gray mare.
There's a big bell on a tassel for dem hosses to run, Young ladies, young gen'lemun, from Baltimo' come, Mo' come, man; mo' come.
OP Missus bet millions an' Massa bet poun's,
Dat ol' Stewball could beat Molly on any ol' groun',
OP groun', man; oP groun'.
Young mistah, kind massa, I am ristin' my life, Jes' to win a great forchun for you an' yo' wife, Yo' wife, man j yo' wife.
The kittledrum was a-bangin' an' the word was given "Run"; Ol' Stewball was tremblin' like a crim'nal to be hung, To be hung, manj to be hung.
When de hosses was saddled an' de word was given "Go," OP Stewball, he shot like an arrow from a bow, From a bow, man; from a bow.
De ol' folks, dey hollered, an' de young folks, dey bawlj
But de lil chillun des a-look-a-look-a-look at de noble Stewball,
Stewball, man; Stewball.
Ef you had-a been dere at de firs' runnin' 'roun', You a-swbre by yo' life dat dey never tech ground Tech groun', man; tech groun'.
Molly was a-climbin' dat great big long lane,
An' she said to her rider, "Caincha slack dat lef' rein?"
Lef rein, man; lef' rein.
OP Stewball was a-ramblin' up dat nine-mile-high hill; His jockey looked behin' him an' he spied ol' WiP * Bill, WiP Bill, man; WiP Bill.
De races, dey ended, an' de judges played de band, An' ol' Stewball beat Molly back to de gran' stan', Gran' stan', man; gran' stan'.
Me an' my husband offa gamblin': I'm fixin' my bed. My chillun stark naked: they is cryin', "Mo' bread." Mo' bread, man; mo' bread.
*Wxld.
I shot dice in Cuby an' I played cards in Spain, Never was no money loser, till I learnt dat skin game, Skin game, manj skin game.
Gwine to build me a castle on de mountain so high, So's I can see ol' Stewball as he passes by, Passes by, manj passes by.
"Good mornin', young lady." "How you feelin', young man?" "I hope you cos' money: I ain' got no small change." Small change, man 5 small change.
Dat peafowl done holler, an' dat turkle dove done moan. I'm a po' boy in trouble an' a long way from my home. From my home, man, from my home.
MIDNIGHT SPECIAL
Well, you wake up in de mornin', Hear de ding-dong ring, Go marchin' to de table, See de same damn thing. Well, it's on-a one table, Knife-a, fork, an'-a pan, An', ef you say anything about it, You're in trouble wid de man.
Chorus:
Let de Midnight Special shine its light on you:
Let de Midnight Special shine its ever-lovin' light on you*
"Well, yonder comes Dr. Melton." "How in de worP do you know?" "Well, dey give me a tablet The day befoV "Well, dey never was a doctor, Travel through by Ian', Dat could cure de fever On a convict man."
"Yonder comes Bud Russell." "How in de worP do you know?" "Tell him by his big hat An' his 44.
He walked into de jail-house Wid a gang o' chains in his han'sj I heard him tell de captain, 'I'm de transfer man.'"
"Ef you go to Houston,* You better walk right, You better not stagger, You better not fight. Or Sheriff Benson * Will arrest you, He will carry you down. Ef de juris find you guilty, You'll be penitentiary bound."
"Yonder comes li'l Rosie." "How in the worP do you know?" "I can tell her by her apron
*The song "Midnight Special" is widely current in the South. Instead of Houston, *c «**« may substitute the name of whatever town he was arrested in, and instead of Benson the name of the sheriff who arrested him.
An' de dress she wo'. Umbereller on her shoulder, Piece o' paper in her han', Well, I heard her tell de captain, CI want my man.* "
"Lord, Thelma say she love mej
But I b'lieve she toP a lie,
'Cause she hasn' been to see me since de las' July.
She brought me lil coffee,
She brought me lil tea,
She brought me nearly ev'thing
But de jail-house key."
"Looky, looky yonder,
What in de worP do I see?
Well, dat brown-skin woman,
Comin' after me.
She wore a mother hubbard
Jes' like a mournin' gown;
Trimmin' on her apron,
Lawd God, how it do hang down!"
aT. K. Erwin went to Austin
Wid a paper in his hands
To get de intermediate sentence
Passed on de convict man.
He hand de paper to de gov'nor,
And dere it stood.
I know she gonna sign it,
'Cause she said she would." *
"I'm gwine away to leave you, An' my time ain' long.
This ver«e, however, is not current outside of Texas.
De man is gonna call me, An* I'm goin' home. Then I'll be done all my grievin', Whoopin', holl'in, an'-a cryin'; Then I'll be done all my studyin' 'Bout my great long time."
"Well, de biscuits on de table, Jus' as hard as any rock. Ef you try to swallow dem, Break a convict's heart." "My sister wrote a letter, My mother wrote a card,— 'Ef you want to come to see us, You'll have to ride de rods.'"
LONG GONE
In the introduction to W. C. Handy's Blues there is a story about the escape of a Negro prisoner, one Long John Green. It seems that the county had recently acquired a pack of bloodhounds and the sheriff wanted to try them out. Long John Green, in jail at the time, was chosen to make trail, since he was famous for the way he could get over the ground. They gave John halfway round the courthouse for a start and then unleashed the pack. On his first lap John crawled through a barrel, got the hounds off the scent and then he was "long gone." Whether or not Lightnin', who sang us the following song, knew the above story, it is hard to say: his own evidence would be worth very little.
The accents mark the ax-blows of a group of four men, who are chopping down a tree.
Leader Chorus
Wid his diamond blade, Wid his di'mond blade,
Got it in his han', Got it in his han',
Gonna hew out de live oaks, Gonna hew out de live oaks,
Dat are in dis lan\ Dat are in dis Ian'.
Refrain
He's long gone, He's long gone,
He's Long John, He's Long John,
He's gone, gone, He's gone, gone,
Like a turkey through de corn, Like a turkey through de corn,
Wid his long clo'es on, Wid his long clo'es on,
He's gone, gone, He's gone, gone,
He's gone John, He's gone John,
He's long gone. He's long gone.
Stanzas
Note: It is effective to sing stanzas two, three, and four, stanzas five and six, stanzas seven, eight, and nine, and stanzas ten, eleven, and twelve as groups without injecting the chorus. Then roar out the refrain after each group of stanzas. This is the way the song is actually sung by the Negroes when they are chopping down a tree. It is well to note that the ax-blow, and thus the most heavily stressed syllable, is the accented syllable that stands nearest to the end of each line.
Ef I had a-listened What Rosie said, I'd a-been sleepin' In a-Rosie's bed.
But-a I wouldn' listen} Got to runnin' aroun', An' de firs' thing I knew, I was jail-house boun\
Well, I got in de jail, Wid my mouf poked out} Now I'm in de pen, An' I cain' get out.
Well-a, John made A pair of shoes} Funnies' shoes Dat was ever seen}
Had a heel in front
An' a heel behin'}
Well, you couldn' tell where
Dat boy was a-gwine.
Well-a, come on, honey, Lemme shet dat do'. Well, de dogs is a-comin' An' I got to go.
Well-a, hear dat sergeant, Jus' a-huffin' an' a-blowin'} Well, I b'lieve I hear Ol' Rattler moanin'.
Well, I crossed dat Brazos In de mornin' dew}
Well, I leave you, sergeant, An' de captain too.
Well-a, good morning Mary} How do you do? Well, I crossed dat river Jus' to see you.
All dis summer Won' call no mo'. Ef I call nex' summer, Den I'm gone some mo'.
He's long gone,
He's Long John,
He's gone, gone,
Like a turkey through de corn,
Wid his long clo'es on, He's gone, gone, He's gone John, He's long gone.
GREAT GOD-A'MIGHTY
Lightnin', "a blue-black, bad nigger," was leading a song that described the days when convicts were leased by the state to owners of large cotton plantations, sometimes to be driven under the lash until they fell from exhaustion, many, according to rumor, dying from sunstroke amid the sun-baked rows of cotton and cane in "dem long hot summer days." The song pictures what went on in the minds of & gang of field workers, one of whom was £bout to be punished. Even outside in the adjacent iron-barred dormitory the chatter and clamor of two hundred black convicts was stilled into awed and reminiscent
silence as the song swept on, growing in power toward the end, while Lightnin's eyes blazed, and he sang, "Great Godamighty!"
The accented words mark the recurrent ax or hoe strokes. The stanzas have this form—
He's a-choppin' in de new groun', He's a-choppin' in de new ground He's a-choppin' in de new groun', Great Godamighty. {Refrain that is repeated after every stanza.)
Verses He's choppin' Charley,
He's a-choppin' jes' to fool you,
He's a pool-doo fooler,
Well, I got a crane wing;
Well, my plirdner's got de same thing;
My blade is order made;
you order it from? It's o'dered from Dallas j Got a number one bladyj Did you hear dat sergeant? He's a-ridin' an' a-squabblin'; Well, I wonder what's de matter? Yonder come de cap'nj Better go to drivin'j Ridin' like he's angry} Lord, I'm in trouble j Ridin' in a hurryj Better go to rollin\ Well, he's got his bull-whup j Cowhide in his other han'; Well, I wonder what's de matter j It's gonna be trouble j If you don't go to drivin'; Well, de captain went to talking An' de bullies went to walkin'j Bully went to pleadin'; I'm a number one drivef j
Cap'n, let me off, suh}
Woncha 'low me a chance, suh?
Bully, low down yo britches j
Put it off no longer j
The bully went to holPin* j
An' de cap'n hollered, "Hold him"}
Cancha hear th5 bully squallin'?
Cancha hear th' bully screamin'?
Oh, I better git to rollin'j
Oh, my bladyj
My blady's on firej *
Jes' a-rockin' in de timber}
It's a-burnm* down, suh.
JUMPIN' JUDY
Allen Prothro from Chattanooga, Tennessee, sang "Jumpin' Judy." The only definition we heard last summer of the peculiar adjective "jumping" as applied to the Julie or Judy, who is famous throughout Southern prison camps, is the way men work when driven in the fields by an angry captain. For aJFurther reference see stanza 13 of the "Tie Tamping Chant."
* Ax-blade, moving fast.
Jumpin' Judy, jumpin' Judy, hanh! Jumpin' Judy, jumpin' Judy, hanh! Jumpin' Judy, jumpin' Judy, hanh! All over dis worP, hanh, all over dis worP, hanh! *
Well, you kick an' stomp an* beat me, Well, you kick an' stomp an' beat me, Well, you kick an' stomp an' beat me, Da's all I know, da's all I know.
Yonder come my cap'n, Yonder come my cap'n, Yonder come my cap'n, Who has been gone so long, who has been gone so long.
Gonna tell him how you treat me, Gonna tell him how you treat me, Gonna tell him how you treat me, So you better git gone, so you better git gone.
He got a 44, #
He got a 44,
*Each following stanza should contain all the stressed words.
He got a 44,
In-a his right han', in-a his right han\
Gonna take dis ol' hammer,
Gonna take dis ol' hammer,
Give it back to jumpin' Judy,
An' tell her I'm gone, suh, an' tell her I'm gone.
Ef she asks you was I runnin', Ef she asks you was I runnin', Ef she asks you was I runnin', You can tell I's flyin', you can tell I's flyin\
Tell 'er I crossed de St. John's River,*
Tell 'er I crossed de St. John's River,
Tell 'er I crossed de St. John's River,
Wid my head hung down, wid my head hung down.
GOIN' HOME
A Pick Song
This song comes from the State Farm at Parchman, Mississippi. The "hanhs" represent the violent exhalations of breath that occur when the point of the pick sinks into the earth.
Everywhere I—hanh!
Where I look this mornin'—hanh!
Everywhere I—hanh!
Where I look this mornin'—hanh!
Looks like rain—my Lawd!
Looks like rain—hanh!
The stanzas that follow can be fitted to the same form:
Got a rainbow * tied all around my shoulder. Am' gonna rain, my Lawd, am' gonna rain.
I done walk till, walk till my feet's gone to rollin\ Jes' like a wheel, my Lawd, jes' like a wheel.
I done hammered, hammered all over this ol' county, My las' time, my Lawd, my las' time.
Ev'y mail day, mail day I git a letter,
"My Son, come home, my Lawd, son, come home."
My baby sister, sister keeps on a-writin',
"Buddy, come home, my Lawd, buddy, come home."
I cain' read her, read her letter for cryin',
My time's so long, my Lawd, my time's so long.
* "Rainbow," the arc of a swinging pick, probably going so fast that it becomes red-hot.
Dat ol' letter, letter read 'bout dyin',
My tears run down, my Lawd, my tears run down.
Jes' wait till I make these few days I started, I'm goin' home, my Lawd, I'm goin' home.
I ain' got no, got no ready-made money, I cain' go home, my Lawd, I cain' go home.
I'm gonna write me, one mo' letter to de gov'nor, 'Bout my time, my Lawd, 'bout my time.
By and by, buddy, we'll all get a pardon, Get to go home, my Lawd, get to go home.
Doncha hear yo', hear yo' mother callin', "Run, son, run, my Lawd, run, son, run"?
I'm gonna break right, break right pas' dat shooter. I'm goin' home, my Lawd, I'm goin' home.