Ben King's Verse/A Negro Song of Home

'Tani't berry many people wat'll listen to a     niggah Un 'low dey's enny sense in wot he say, But I'se gwine ter guv de 'sperience of mah feelin's,     and I figgah Dat dey's quite a smart o' people tinks mah way. W'en a man begins a-shoutin' 'bout de good tings day he's missin' Kickin' kase dey ain't a fortune in his job, Let 'im go home to his kitchen, an' set down a while an' listen To de singin' ob de kettle on de hob.

I've hayrd de strains ob "Home, Sweet Home" when Patti was a-singin' An' de aujience was a-spillin' ob deir tears; But I didn't mind the singah, fo' a different tune kep' ringin' Wif hits ha'nty kin' ob music in mah ears. An' I reckernized de melerdy so powerful bewitchin' Dat made mah heart like sixty fo' ter t'rob, An' I mejiate felt a hank'rin' fo' my cozy little kitchen An' de singin' ob de kettle on de hob.

De rich man can inhabitate a palace ef he wishes, Wif bricker-er-brack and pictuahs on de wall; An' kin lay on velvet sofers an' eat off'n golden dishes, But I wouldn't swap mah kitchen fo' his all; Fo' hit wouldn't be like home ter me but 'ceptin' I     could listen, A-puffin' at de backy in mah cob, While de good Lawd seemed a-speakin' ob a home- like kin' ob blessin' Frough de singin' ob de kettle on de hob.