Itching Heels

Fu' de peace o' my eachin' heels, set down;     Don' fiddle dat chune no mo'.     Don' you see how dat melody stuhs me up     An' baigs me to tek to de flo'?     You knows I 's a Christian, good an' strong;     I wusship f'om June to June;     My pra'ahs dey ah loud an' my hymns ah long:     I baig you don' fiddle dat chune.     I 's a crick in my back an' a misery hyeah     Whaih de j'ints 's gittin' ol' an' stiff,     But hit seems lak you brings me de bref o' my youf;     W'y, I 's suttain I noticed a w'iff.     Don' fiddle dat chune no mo', my chile,     Don' fiddle dat chune no mo';     I 'll git up an' taih up dis groun' fu' a mile,     An' den I 'll be chu'ched fu' it, sho'.     Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo', I say,     An' fiddle it loud an' fas':     I's a youngstah ergin in de mi'st o' my sin;     De p'esent 's gone back to de pas'.     I 'll dance to dat chune, so des fiddle erway;     I knows how de backslidah feels;     So fiddle it on 'twell de break o' de day     Fu' de sake o' my eachin' heels.