Ben King's Verse/De Circus Turkey

He's de worst I evah see, Dat old turkey up 'n de tree, I bin pesta'n him 'n punchin' him saince mohnin'. I nev' saince I was bo'n     See de way he do stick on, En he 'pears to look down at me 's if he scornin'.

He doesn't seem to 'pear Ter hab a bit ob fear, Kase I'se wasted all mah strength 'n bref upon 'im. It may be he 's in fun, But I'llo scah 'im wid dis gun, I'se boun' ter git 'im down some way, dog on 'im.

I'se fro'd mos' all de sticks In de yard, 'n all de bricks; Ef yo' was me whut under d' sun 'ud yo' do? He doesn't seem ter change, 'N' 'pears ter act so strange, I'd clar he mus' be pestah'd wid a hoodoo.

I tale yo' hit's er fac' I nearly broke mah back Er histin' shoes 'n brickbats up dar to 'im    Pon dis Tanksgibbin' day. I hate ter shoot, but say— I bleebe a gun's de only thing'll do 'im. I 'low I'll make 'im think He kaint gib me de wink An' sait upon dat limb en be secuah. Biff!—! Bang!—! I'll make 'im sing; Mah goodness, watch 'im swing. W'y he 's a reg'lah circus turkey, suah. Hi see de hull thing now— Dat Rasmus boy, I 'low, Has done gone tied 'is feet up dar wid strings. No wondah dat he tried Ter come off; he was tied 'N' all what he could do was flap 'is wings.

Come hyar, yo' Rasmus, quick, sah! I'se min' ter use dis stick, sah! Come hyar, from ovah dar, from whar yo' stood. I 'low I ought to lay yo' Down on dat groun' en flay yo' I'se tempted mos' ter use as stick o' wood.

Yo' kaint go de meetin', An' w'en it comes ter eatin' Yo' mudder sais yo' kaint come to de table. I bet yo'11 sing er tune, Kase all dis aftahnoon We's 'cided dat we'11 lock yo' in de stable.

Yo' kaint hab none de white meat, An' yo' kaint hab none de brown meat, An' yo' jes' hearn whut yer po' ole mudder sade; Yo' kaint hab none de stuffin' Er de cranber' sauce er nuffin', An' 'cisely at six o'clock yo' go ter baid.