Coffee in the Gourd: Miscellany of Texas Folk-Lore, by W. P. Webb

The folk-lore presented here is nothing more than a miscellaneous collection. A few of the selections bear unmistakable signs of authorship; others are parodies on well-known religious or popular songs. Each selection, however, has this feature in common with all folk-lore: it lives and is handed down by word of mouth by some class or group.

HOBO SONGS

The first songs I shall give were collected from two hobos who were placed in the police station at Cuero, Texas. They were picked up as suspicious characters after a local diamond robbery and placed in prison. Upon being liberated, they found it impossible to get out of town, and voluntarily returned to the police station and asked to be locked up for the night and fed. One of the school boys happened to get in conversation with them and got one song in the hobo's own handwriting. The hobo wrote an excellent business hand, and the punctuation and capitalization showed him to be a man of more than average education. On the morning--following I went down to the police station and got some other songs. The hobos talked freely and interestingly. They said they learned the songs when in the I. W. W. (International Workmen of the World, or I Won't Work). They spoke of the I. W. W.'s as "Wobblers." I asked one where they were from. He shrugged his shoulders, sucked his cigarette, and said: "Oh, everywhere. We've been to the Pacific and to the Atlantic, so we can't say where we're from." After a moment he added rather whimsically, "We been everywhere looking for work, and--never able to find it."

The first song, an obvious parody, was sung to the good religious tune of "Hallelujah, Thine the Glory."

When spring time does come,
O won't we have fun.
We'll throw up our jobs
And we'll go on the bum.

Chorus:

Hallelujah, I'm a bum,
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a handout
To revive us again.

I went up to a house
And I knocked on the door,
A lady came out
And said, "You've been here before."

Chorus:

I went up to a house
And I asked for a piece of bread,
A lady came out
And said, "The baker is dead."

Chorus:

I went up to a house
And I asked for a pair of pants;
A lady came out
And said, "I don't clothe no tramps."

Chorus:

I went into a saloon,
And I bummed him for a drink;
He gave me a glass
And he showed me the sink.

Chorus:

"Why don't you go to work
Like other men do?"
"How the hell are we going to work
When there's no work to do."

Chorus:

Holy Rollers and Jumpers come out,
And they holler and jump and they shout,
But when eating time comes around they will say,
"You will eat on that glorious day."

Chorus:

You will eat bye and bye,
In that glorious land way up high,
Work and pray, live on hay,
You'll eat pie in the sky bye and bye, that's no lie.

Another ballad, and the best one given by the hobo, is entitled "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, Keep on a-Tramping." He said he learned it out in Denver where the "wobblers" ran the Salvation Army off the street. The tune is familiar to all.

He walked up and down the street
Till the shoes fell off his feet,
Across the street he spied a lady cooking stew.
And he said, "How do you do,
May I chop some wood for you?"
But what the lady told him made him feel so blue.

Chorus:
"Tramp, tramp, tramp, keep on a-trampin',
There is nothing here for you;
If I catch you 'round again,
You will wear the ball and chain,
Keep a-trampin', that's the best thing you can do."

Across the street a sign he read,
"Work for Jesus," so it said.
And he said, "Here is my chance, I'll surely try."
And he kneeled upon the floor
Until his knees got rather sore,
But at eating time he heard the preacher cry.

Chorus:

Down the street he met a cop,
And the copper made him stop,
And he said: "When did you blow into town?"
And he took him to the judge,
But the judge he said, "Ah fudge!
Bums that have no money need not come around."

Chorus:

Out in Denver on a cold November day,
Inside an empty box-car, a dying hobo lay.
His partner stood beside him, with low and drooping head,
Listening to the last words the dying hobo said.

"Tell my sweetheart back in Denver not to weep for me,
Not a tear in her eye must lurk,
For I'm going to a land where I don't have to work;
You can sleep out nights, and don't have to wear no socks,
And little streams of whiskey come trickling out of the rocks.

"Hark! I hear a whistling, I must catch her on the fly;
Farewell, partner, I must leave you, I'm not afraid to die."
The hobo stopped, his head fell back, as he sang his last refrain.
His partner swiped his hat and socks, and caught the east bound train.

RAILROAD SONGS

Ole J. Gould owns the Katy line, the C. B. & the Q.,
Owns the C. & A, Cannon Ball, gettin' richer every day,
And if you niggers doan look out, he'll own the Santa Fe.

A few more words I'll write to you,
Before I bid you all adieu,
And if I live two months or three,
I vow I'll leave old Santa Fe.

I went down to my mother's house,
I overstayed my time,
Early Monday morning.
The boss struck me thirty-nine,

Called me in to breakfast,
And scarcely gave me time,
To eat a piece of buttered bread
And an old bacon rind.

Chorus:
Going to leave the I. & G.
Tra-la-la-la-la,
Going upon the T. & P.
Tra-la-la-la-la.

Ole Mistress, will you be so kind
And give me a bite to eat,
A little, piece of buttered bread,
And a little piece of meat,
A little piece of custard pie,
To soothe my appetite.

Chorus:

All along the I. & G.,
Waiting for a freight,
Roving the old Island down,
With not a bite to eat.
If the brakeman catches me,
My waiting's all in vain,
It's skip out, you jolly bum,
And catch the next freight train.

Chorus:

III

SLUM SONGS

Listen to me, all you fair maids,
While a story I will tell;
It's all about a peanut girl,
Who cut a mighty swell.

She lived with her mother up seven pair of stairs,
On' the Bowery near Grand;
But her place of business was on Broadway,
Where she kept a peanut stand.

A rowdy or a spree one day,
As down the street was bent,
He ran against the peanut stand,
And away the peanuts went.

A young policeman standing by
With a big club in his hand,
He marched the rowdy off to jail
For upsetting the peanut stand.

She loved the young policeman then,
And he bought her peanuts too,
She loved his German silver star,
And his coat all trimmed in blue.

They loved each other like Shanghai fowls,
Roving round in spring;
They went to the lager beer saloon
To hear the Dutchmen sing.

Some part of the song seems to have been left out here, as the narrative is broken.

The next song belongs in the same class as "Albert," the famous negro song. It makes use of a refrain at the end of each stanza that seems absolutely meaningless.

Twinkle, twinkle, said a little star,
Here comes Brady on a cable car,
Knockin' out windows, breakin' down doors,
Tryin' to keep even with the Sandy slows (St. Louis--)