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Fiddlin' A'ter Supper


Jake H. Harrison

I shore love to play the fiddle
Nearly any time o’ day,
When I’m feelin’ in the notion,
An’ my fiddle wants to play;
But it’s nicer a’ter supper
When my day’s work’s done, you know,
An’ my thoughts gits solemncholy
An’ I play right soft an’ low.

Then the fiddle seems to jine in,
Like your sweetheart at the gate,
When you’re sparkin’ in the evenin’,
An’ stay out a little late;
An’ my heart gits to chordin’
With the music in the strings,
An’ the fiddle gits to trimblin’
An’ jist kind o’ sobs an’ sings.

Then my eyes they git to leakin’,
An’ my voice don’t want to speak,
An’ I feel so awful happy
An’ so kin’ o’ mild an’ meek,
‘At I love the whole creation,
As I play an’ walk the floor,
An’ jist crave to own a billion,
So ‘at I kin help the poor.

An’ I most forgot to mention
‘At my little daughter, Nell,
Plays the chords upon the organ—
An’ you bet she plays ‘em well—
An’ most always a’ter supper
We jist have a jubilee,
An’ I git as close to heaven
As a feller needs to be!

For my wife she’ll set a-smilin’
An’ the baby’ll jump and coo,
An’ I feel so good an’ happy
‘At I dunno what to do!
An’ old Nancy an’ the puppies
They shore think the music’s fine,
For they all stan’ in the entry,
An’ jist wag their tails an’ whine!

Now I hain’t got any larnin’
An’ must labor for my bread,
An’ I guess most ever’body
Will jist laugh at what I’ve said;
But I tell you they’s no happ’ness
Like the kind a fiddle brings,
When it trimbles on your bosom,
An’ jist kind o’ sobs an’ sings.

JAKE H. HARRISON in Eagleton, Davis Foute. Texas Literature Reader. Dallas: Southern Publishing Co., 1919 (29-32)