James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922.
Calling the Doctor
A
Gi’ me some’n’ to he’p me quick,
Don’t,—Ah’ll die!
Tried all dem t’ings on de pantry she’f;
Couldn’ fin’ not’in’ a-tall would do,
An’ so Ah sent fo’ you.
Firs’,—horhound drops an’ catnip tea;
Den rock candy soaked in rum,
An’ a good sized chunk o’ camphor gum;
Next Ah tried was castor oil,
An’ snakeroot tea brought to a boil;
Sassafras tea fo’ to clean mah blood;
But none o’ dem t’ings didn’ do no good.
Den when home remedies seem to shirk,
Dem pantry bottles was put to work:
“Sixty-six, fo’ fever an’ chills,”
Ready Relief, an’ A. B. C.,
An’ half a bottle of X. Y. Z.
An’ sev’al mo’ Ah don’t recall,
Dey nevah done no good at all.
Ah fo’ced some clabber, about a pail,
Fo’ mah of gran’ma always said
When yo’ can’t eat you’re almost dead.
Now, doctor, see what you c’n do.
Ah’m sick, doctor-man. Gawd knows Ah’m sick!
Gi’ me some’n’ to he’p me quick,
Don’t,—Ah’ll die!