BLUE-TAIL FLY
(learned at camps in the 1940s)
When I was young I used to wait
And when he'd ride in the afternoon,
One day he rode around the farm,
The pony run, he jump, he pitch,
They laid him 'neath the 'simmon tree,
(from miriam berg's folksong collection)
On massa and bring him his plate
And pass the bottle when he got dry
And brush away the blue-tail fly.
Jimmie crack corn, and I don't care,
Jimmie crack corn, and I don't care,
Jimmie crack corn, and I don't care,
My massa's gone away.
I'd follow with a hickory broom,
The pony being like to shy
When bitten by the blue-tail fly.
Jimmie crack corn, and I don't care...
The flies so numerous they did swarm,
One chanced to bite him on the thigh,
The devil take the blue-tail fly.
Jimmie crack corn...
He threw my massa in the ditch,
He died and the jury wondered why,
The verdict was, the blue-tail fly.
Jimmie crack corn...
His epitaph is there to see,
Beneath this tree I'm forced to lie,
A victim of the blue-tail fly.
Jimmie crack corn...