Talk about troubles, I bet you dey had 'em--Adam--
Adam en Eve, en all dere kin.
Well, when dey got back de gate wuz shut.
An' dat wuz de pay, what Adam got.
In dat gyardin he went no moh.
De ober-seer gib him a shobel en a hoe,
A mule, en a plow, en a swingle tree,
Talk about yo hahd times, I bet you dey had 'em--Adam--
En all uh his chillen bofe slave en free.
En de chillen ob Adam, en de chillen's kin,
Dey all got smeared wid de pitch ob sin.
Dey shut dere eyes, to de great here-atter,
En flung sin aroun', wid a turrible splatter.
En cahooted wid Satan, en dat wat de matter--
An' troubles, well. I bet you dey had 'em--Adam--
De chillen ob Adam, what forgot ter pray, dey had 'em,
And dey keep on a hadden 'em down tuh dis day.
But dat wa'n't de las' ob de appile tree,
Kase she scatter her seeds bofe fur en free,
And dat's whut de mattah wid you en me,
I knows de feelin's what brought on de fall,
Dat same ole appile, an' ole Satan's call,
Lor' bless yo chile, I knows 'em all.
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