UNCLE NED
(Stephen Foster)


There was an old darkie* and his name was Uncle Ned,
And he died long ago, long ago.
He had no wool on the top of his head
In the place where the wool ought to grow.

Cho: Then lay down your shovel and your hoe-oh-oh-oh,
Hang up your fiddle and your bow.
There's no more work for poor old Ned;
He's gone where the good darkies go.

His fingers were long as the cane in the brake
And he had no eyes for to see.
He had no teeth for to eat the hoe cake,
So he had to let the hoe cake be.

One cold, frosty morning old Ned died;
Massa's tears they fell like the rain,
For he knew when Ned were laid in the ground
He'd never see his like again.

*less politically aware versions use "nigger" or "niggar"

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