de white man bil’d de big rock fence,

he’s boss of all de lan’,

he’s lord of all de fiel’s an’ woods,

he wuck me all he can.

he stays up in de big white house,

long wid his cake an’ ale,

he nurver kno’s whut joy it am

to hunt ole cotton-tail.

whut keer i if dat fence am ruint,

whut keer i fer de cost?

ef i don’t make a hole down dar

dat cotton-tail am lost.

den i go sneakin’ home ter night

an’ ketch it, widout fail:

“ole man, huccum you sneak in heah

widout dat cotton-tail?”

so watch dar, boy, upon dat fence,

(you, juno, watch dat crack!)

an’ ef you see marse john come out

jes’ drap down in yo’ track.

i’ll git a stick an’ twist in dar—

you’ll heah dat rabbit’s wail—

whut’s rock an’ stone—dey can’t be e’t,

lak good ole cotton-tail.

ole wash.