My mother who died recently aged 85 used to sing this to me as a child.
It is the only song I know for which I had no other source until 10 years ago when her older sister died and some of their mother's considerable colection of sheet music was passed to me, including a ragged copy of this song.

STAY IN YOUR OWN BACKYARD

Lilac trees are blooming in the garden by the gate,
Mammy's in her little cottage door.
Curly headed piccaninny, coming home so late,
Crying cos his little heart is sore.
All the children playing round with skin so white and fair,
None of them with him would ever play.
So Mammy in her lap takes the dusky little chap,
And croons in her kind old way:

Chorus
Now Honey, you stay in your own back yard,
Don' mind what dem white chiles do.
What sho' you suppose dey's gwin to gib
A black little coon like you?
So stay on this side of the high board fence,
And Honey, don' cry so hard,
Jus' go out and play as much as you please,
but stay in your own back yard.

Ev'ry day the children as they passed ol' Mammy's door
Romping home from school at night or noon,
Peeping thro' the fence would see the dusky little chap,
Such a lonesome whistful little coon.
Then one day that little face was gone forever more:
God had called the dusky little elf,
But Mammy in her door sat and rocked just as before,
And crooned to her dear old self: Chorus


This always made me cry,