1. 'Twas a dream ob delight las' Saturday night at Abram Lincoln Hall, When de cullud elite was shakin' dere feet at de Pullman porters' ball. Dey was not out fo' cash, an' no common trash could mingle for love or cush. Yer had to be de fust ob de upper crust to mingle wid dat push.
CHORUS: Oh! dem kings ob de railroad downed 'em all, An' dat Newport soci'ty's got to crawl. Ev'ry coon worth a milllion in de ragtime cotillion At de Pullman porters' ball
2. All de wall ob de room was gaily festooned wid watermelon vine, Dey polished de flo' for a week or mo' wid de fines' bacon rin'; Dere was all kin's o' grub an' wine by de tub an' music by Skidmore's band; An' ev'ry dusky belle had a bouquet to smell, in her white lily hand.