Hi Azizi

I believe this is a challenging place to address issues about race from an African American standpoint. The variety of responses here is a good illustration! I don't have anything deep to say about it at the   
moment, but I'm glad you are smiling! Are you familiar with this song?
A friend pointed it out to me and since I already knew and liked the melody and I'm immersed in an ethnography of Ida Goodson and the music she played I have been learning this song.

But mainly I'm thinking about it and intend to do some more research about it. I'd like to hear what you have to say about it. Wasn't it Sean Combs that said he was most attracted to melody and the power it has? I find the power of melody in the early minstrel songs very compelling. Many of these melodies are imprinted in our collective musical brains, I find.   

PS The one time I tried a lighthearted approach to your bringing up race, I was misunderstood (a common experience for me), so I stopped addressing the issue. But more power to you. hg      



KINGDOM COMING
(Henry Clay Work)

Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa,
Wid de muff-stash on his face,
Go long the road some time dis mornin'
Like he gwine to leab de place?
He seen a smoke, 'way up the ribber
Whar the Linkum gunboats lay;
He took his hat an' lef' berry sudden
An' I spec he's run away!

cho: De massa run? Ha ha!
De darkeys stay? Ho ho!
It mus' be now de kingdom comin'
An' de year ob Jubilo!

He six foot one way, two foot tudder,
An' he weigh tree hundred pound;
His coat so big, he couldn't pay de tailor,
An' it won't go half way round.
He drill so much dey call him Cap'n
An' he get so drefful tanned,
I spec he try and fool dem Yankees
For to t'ink he's contraband!

cho:

De darkeys feel so lonesome, libing
In de log-house on the lawn,
Dey move dar t'ings to massa's parlour,
For to keep it while he's gone.
Dar's wine an' cider in de kitchen,
An' de darkeys dey'll have some;
I spose dey'll all be confiscated
When de Linkum sojers come.

cho:

De oberseer he make us trouble
An he dribe us round a spell;
We lock him up in de smoke-house cellar
Wid de key trown in de well.
De whip is lost, de han-cuff broken
But de massa'll hab his pay;
He's ole enough, big enough, ought to known better
Dan to went an' run away.