De Dog-Driver’s Frien’
Stay your hasty hands, my comrades,
I must speak to you again;
For you beat de dog ’dout mussy,
An’ dey are we night-time frien’.
Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
For dey are God’s creatures too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
On de earth dan what dey do.
’Cos you locked him up in barracks
T’rough some failin’ point o’ his,
You mus’ beatin’ him so badly
For de little carelessness ?
Treat dem kindly, etc.
When de hours are cold an’ dreary,
An’ I’m posted on me beat,
An’ me tired heavy body
Weighs upon me weary feet;
When I think of our oppressors
Wid mixed hatred an’ don’-care,
An’ de ugly miau of tom-puss
Rings out sharply on de air,
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