There was a little nigger girl—
With face as black as coal.
And many a little wooly curl
She grew upon her poll.

Her teeth were white as driven snow,
Her eyes were liquid drops, see?
In fair Kentucky did she "grow"—
Her Christian name was Topsy.

A blacky boy,
His mother's joy,
Went out one day
To shout and play.
A goose he saw,
And goslings four,
Who try to chase
Him from the place,
And in a tree,
In haste climbed he

He cried, "oh, oh,
Don't bite my toe!"
The goose said "feet
Aren't good to eat.
But you can stay
Up there all day,
We don't like boys
Who make a noise."
Said darkie "no,
I won't stay so."
He broke a thick
And splendid stick.
And down he came,—
—'Twas quite a game
To see them run
Was such good fun!

If you're in the land of small black-a-moors,
You'll find they mostly live out of doors,
They tumble about on the ground all day,
And very few lessons they care to say.
But here is the good little Topsy, look,
She's teaching her dolly out of a book;
We can't tell quite what the lesson may be,
Perhaps it's the black-a-moors' "A. B. C."