Page:Claude McKay Constab Ballads.djvu/70



may sneer at us, madam,

But our work is beastly hard;

An’ while toilin thus we scarce

Ever get a lee reward.

Our soul’s jes’ like fe you,

If our work does make us rough;

Me won’t ’res’ you servant-gal

When you’ve beaten her enough.

You may say she is me frien’,

We are used to all such prate;

Naught we meet on life’s stern road

But de usual scorn an’ hate.

Say dat you wi’ ’port me, ma’am?

I was lookin’ fe dat,—well,

Our Inspector’s flinty hard,

’Twill be few days’ pay or cell.

Pains an’ losses of such kind

To we p’licemen’s not’in’ new;

Still A’d really like fe hear

Wha’ good it wi’ do to you.