Go to sleep, my little pickaninny
Br'er Fox gonna catch you if you don'
Hushabye, rockabye, mama's little baby
Br'er Fox gonna eat you if you don'

My mother actually used to sing that to me when I was small. The context completely lost on my poor little head.

Aieee, aiooo, my laddy, lie easy
Sure my misfortunes are none of your own.
But it's weary I am with rocking and mourning
And rocking the cradle of a child not my own

This one always made me worry, and is clearly not written with the child's best interests in mind. It ended up (after the 19th century widespread emigration to Amerikay) as a song used to lull dogies on the trail.


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