THE OLD WOMAN’S COMPLAINT (POEM)
Sung by: Emma Puterbaugh Medlin
Recorded on 8/12/63
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Right on my brand new mat,
Where I took such pains
To pick in a handsome yaller cat.
Now, Mr. Bruce, ain't no use in talking;
You and I’ll have to part.
If I’d a-known you’d chawed the weed,
You never should a-had my heart.
Spitting around from morn ‘til night,
The furniture’d soon be in a pretty plight.
It’s spit in every corner,
And spit in every room,
And it's spit beneath the table,
And it's spit behind the broom.
And it’s spit, spit, everywhere,
In the house and out of door.
I wonder if you think this world was made
For nothing but to chaw.
If you did, you can’t expect we womenfolks
To do anything but jaw.
The other day I went for a ride,
Clear down to Boston town,
And I wore my very best,
My brand-new purple gown,
And don’t you know, when I undertook to take
My seat within them pesky . . .
I almost dropped my carpetbag,
And bust right out in tears,
For every seat where I undertook to sit
Was nothing but a yellow ocean of tobacker spit.
I declare, I wish you men would all go straight to the deuce,
A-chawing your tobacker and a-spitting out the juice.
And then to hear them critters talk
About the women drinking tea,
Making mountains out of a anthill,
And a whale out of a flea.
They jaw, too, at the school gals,
‘Cause they've took to chewing gum,
And with their mouths full of tobacker,
They’ll say, “Thy kingdom come.”
I wonder if they think the Lord
Will take a flag of truce
From a man who chaws tobacker
And spits out all the juice.
Howsomever, you can’t convince a fool,
But there’s just one man on earth,
That’s subject to my rule,
And I’ll tell you, Hezekiah,
You’re already in the fire,
For I can and will insert my power
As a female, not a goose,
And if you’re bound to chaw tobacker,
You’ll swaller all the juice.