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'Twuz in de dancin' season w'en de fros' wuz layin' roun' En de rabbit wuz a-gwine lak a gray ghos' 'cross de groun'— W'en de lazies' er niggers wuz a-comin' to de scratch— Dat we took de whole plantation wid de cullud Dancin' Match.

De prize wuz—lemme see now: Two hams, a side er meat, Sack er flour, en a jimmyjohn what had a mouth ez sweet Ez a hive a-drippin' honey — ez a red rose, w'en de dew

Sorter tilts it, 'twell it's leanin' ter de bees what drinks ter vou. De flo' wuz smooth en sanded, de fiddler in his place — De lively music ripplin' 'cross de wrinkles in his face En lightin' up de eyes er him, en tinglin' ter his feet: "Good Times in Ole Verginny," en "Kentucky's Hard ter Beat!"

De schedule fer de dancin' wuz "All get in de ring!" En "Who'll hoi' out de longes' whilst dey got a foot ter fling! " Dey wuz twenty answer roll-call, lak a sojerin' brigade, En dey never wuz sich dancin' sence a fiddle-string wuz made!

En couple after couple—fagged out en short er breath— Went reelin' f'um dat dancin' 'fo' dey dance deyse'f ter death! All of 'em 'cept Br'er Williams: he wuz in de ring fer sho', Entiis foots des kep' a-kickin' er de white san' f'um de flo'!

De fiddlestick a-flyin', de lights a-gittin' low, De music in a gallop, en Br'er Williams on de go! "You wins de prize, Br'er Williams!"—But still de fiddler played, En lightnin' wuzn't nuthin, ter de steps Br'er Williams made!