DE DOG-DRIVERS’ FRIEN’.
Stay your hasty hands, my comrades,
I must speak to you again,
For you beat de
dog ‘dout mussey,
An’ dey are
we night-time frien’.
Treat dem kindly,
treat dem kindly,
For they are God’s creatures, too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
On de earth than what dey do.
’Cos you
locked him up in barracks
T’rough some
failin’ point o’ his,
You mus’
beatin’ him so badly
For de little carelessness?
Treat dem kindly,
treat dem kindly,
For they are God’s creatures, too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
On de earth than what dey do.
When de hours are cold n’ dreary,
An’ I’m posted on me beat,
An’ me tired heavy body
Weighs upon me weary feet,
Oftentimes dem
come aroun’ me
Wid dem free an’
trustin’ soul,
Lyin’ do’n
or gambolling near me
Wid a tender sort
o’ gro’l:
An’ I snap
my fingers at them,
While dey wag dem
tail at me;
Can you wonder that I love them,
Them, me night-time
company?
Treat dem kindly,
treat dem kindly,
For they are God’s creatures, too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
On de earth than what dey do.
Sometimes dey’re
a bit too noisy
Wid deir long leave-taking
bark;
But I tell you
what, it cheers me
When de nights are extra dark.
So, dear comrades,
don’t illtreat him,
You won’t
mek me talk in vain;
’Member, when the hours are dreary,
He’s de poor dog-drivers’ frien’.
Treat dem kindly,
treat dem kindly,
For they are God’s creatures, too;
You have no more claim, dear comrades,
On de earth than what dey do.
Claude McKay
1911
