Lyr Add: Ching-a-ring-chaw (Minstrel)

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Ching-a-ring-chaw (Minstrel)
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 07 Mar 14 - 01:16 PM

Thomas Hampson sings Copeland's transcriptions of these old songs well. I prefer solo for them, and I dust off and play his CD every so often. Some are reproduced on youtube.

Tom Roush sings a lot of these old songs, in original form. Several are on youtube but I haven't checked for "Ching...."

Subject: ADD Version: Ching-a-ring-chaw (Copland)
From: Joe Offer
Date: 07 Mar 14 - 02:14 AM

Aaron Copland included this in his Old American Songs

CHING A RING CHAW

Ching-a-ring-a ring ching ching,
Ho a ding-a-ding kum larkee,
Ching-a-ring-a ring ching ching,
Ho a ding kum larkee.

Brothers gather round,
Listen to this story,
'Bout the promised land,
An' the promised glory.

You don't need to fear,
If you have no money,
You don't need none there,
To buy you milk and honey.

There you'll ride in style,
Coach with four white horses,
There the evenin' meal,
Has one two three four courses.

Nights we all will dance
To the harp and fiddle,
Waltz and jig and prance,
"And cast off down the middle!"

When the mornin' come,
All in grand and splendor,
Stand out in the sun,
And hear the holy thunder!

Brothers hear me out,
The promised land's a-comin'
Dance and sing and shout,
I hear them harps a strummin'.

Ching-a-ring-a ching
ching ching, ching a ring ching
Ching-a-ring-a ching ching,
ching-a-ring-a ching ching,
ching-a-ring-a,
ching-a-ring-a,
ching-a-ring-a,
ring, ching ching ching CHAW!

Here's a recording: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTZLoeHubWo

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Ching-a-ring-chaw (Minstrel)
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 19 Jun 05 - 08:09 PM

Sheet music at Levy Sheet Music (nd) pub. Baltimore by Geo. Willig. Midi and lyrics at www.pdmusic.org, dated 1833.

Subject: Lyr Add: Ching-a-ring-chaw (Minstrel)
From: chico
Date: 19 Jun 05 - 07:40 PM

    C            7      F             7
  Broder let us leabe, Buera lan for Hettee,
   C            Am    G7           C
  Dar you be receibe Gran as La Fayette;
  
  Make a mity show, wen we lan from steamship
  
  I be like Munro, You like Louis Philip,
  
  Chinger ringer, ring ching, ching
  Ho ah, dingah ding kum darkee,
  Chinger ringer, ring ching chaw,
  Ho ah ding kum darkey.
  
  
  Oh dat equal sod, hoo no want to go_e
  Dare we feel no rod, dar we hab no fo_e
  Dar we lib so fine wid our coach and hors_e,
  An ebery time we dine, hab one, two, three, four, corsee_e.
  
  No more carry bed, no more oister opee,
  No more dig de sod, no more krab de slop_e,
  But hab whiskers gran, an promenade de stove_e,
  Wid beauties od be lan, were we in full dress meet_e.
  
  No more carry bag an wid a nail and tick_e,
  Nasty dirty rag, wit gutte pick_e,
  No more barrow wheel all about de street_e,
  No more baige to tred, den by massa beat_e.
  
  No more white man stare, wen he stand in mob_e,
  And felte our lubly fair, which make em sigh and sob_e
  Dar our wibes be gran, and in dimons shin_e.
  While ebery kullered man, hab much he drink ob wine_e.
  
  Dar we make de best sugar, fetch from Havanna,
  While our dorters fair, play on de piano,
  No more cry bad corn, or pepper pot all hot_e,
  But work de lubly korn, and res in sturdy grad_e.
  
  No more our sons cry weep, no more he be the back_e
  No more our dorters weep, kase dey all call em black_e,
  Mo more dey wan to be, no more wash and cook_e.
  But ebery day we see em read de novel book_e.
  
  No more wid black and [handshake?] bond and shoe to shin_e,
  But hab all tidings flash, and all ob 'em sublim_e,
  No more dance for eel, am all dat kind of fish_e,
  No more cat corn meal, but hab de best ob dish_e,
  
  Dar we hab parties big, dar dance an play de fiddle,
  Der waltz an hab de jig, cast off an down de middle,
  Den in gran saloon, we take the blushin damsel,
  Where eyes shine like de moon, an ebery mood de cram full,
  
  Dar dance at nite de jig, what what man call cotillion
  In hall so mity big it hole haff a million;
  Den take our partners out, den forward two mallock_e
  De cross an turn about, an den go home in hack_e.
  
  Dar too we are sure to make our dorters de fine lad_e,
  And wen de husbans take, dey love de common grad_e
  An den perhaps our son, he rise in glorious splender,
  An be like Washington, be contry's defender.
  
  ["Ching a Ring Chaw" (1833) (aka "Sambo's Address to His Bred'ren") Words and Music: anonymous]