Your _Times_ would right our wrongs, JOHN,
--Always _wuz_ sweet on us!--
But on dilemma's prongs, JOHN,
To fix me don't _you_ fuss.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,
Though physic's good," sez he,
"It doesn't foller that he can swaller
Prescriptions signed J.B.
Put up by you for me!"

Thet swaggerin' black buck Nig., JOHN,
Is jest a grown-up kid;
Ez happy as a ---- pig, JOHN,
When doin' wut he's bid.
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
He's hateful when he's free.
Equal with _him_, that dark-skinn'd limb?
No; that will not suit _me_,
More than it wud J.B.!"

Emigrate the whole lot, JOHN?
Well, that's a tallish task!
In Afric's centre hot, JOHN,
Send 'em to breed and bask?
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess
_I_'d be right glad," sez he,
"But--_will they go?_ 'Tain't done, you know,
As easy as J.B.
Wud settle it--for me!"