Lilac trees are blooming in the corner by the gate,
Mammy in the little cabin door.
Curly-headed piccaninny coming home so late,
Crying 'cause his little heart is sore.
All the children playing 'round have skin so white and fair,
None of them with him will ever play.
So Mammy in her lap takes the little weeping chap,
And says, in her kind old way.

Now honey won't you stay in your own back yard,
Don't mind what the white folks do.
What show you suppose they are going to give
To a black little coon like you?
So stay on this side of the high board fence,
And honey don't you cry so hard.
Go out and play just as much as you please,
But stay in your own back yard.

Every day the children, as they passed old Mammy's place
Romping home from school at night or noon.
Peering through the fence, would see this eager little face
Such a wistful, lonesome little coon.
Till one day the little face Was gone forever more,
God had called his dusky little elf,
And Mammy in the door Sat and rocked as oft before,
And crooned to her old black self.

Now honey won't you stay in your own back yard,
Don't mind what the white folks do.
What show you suppose they are going to give
To a black little coon like you?
So stay on this side of the high board fence,
And honey don't you cry so hard.
Go out and play just as much as you please,
But stay in your own back yard.^^