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Well, it won’ be long fo’ de breck ub day;

An’ de possum, showly, he kyant git ’stray,

So den I’ll clime dat little black-gum tree;

Dat pine’s too full ub grapevines futto see.

De day broke clare, an’ up’n de tree I clum,

An’ in dem grapevines, twixt de pine an’ gum,

A ressin ub his’self, yaller, slick an’ fat,

Da lay uh gre’t big ornry Thormas cat!

I tuck uh match an’ lit de varmint’s tail,

An’ when he jump po’ Romp an’ Fred dey wail;

Dat yaller Thormas cat, on fire, ub cose,

Dey tuck to be uh red-hot, flamin’ ghose!

Romp ain’ no use fuh night dog any mo’,

An’ neber ter de swamp he wants ter go;

An’ when he comes uh cross uh wile grapevine

He al’ays gits relarmed an’ ’gins ter growl an’ whine.

Ef Romp had bin ub houn’ blood, stid ub cur,

He’d know’d de difference in de scent ub fur.

So arfter dis I wants uh thorrybred;

When dey speaks up’n uh tree you ain’ misled.

But if I steals de finis’ thorrybred

Da ain’ no use ub praisin’ him ter Fred—

He’s jined de chuch. Dat yaller Thormas cat

He tho’t uh ghose is all de cause ub dat.