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Kiver up yo’ haid, my little lady,
Hyeah de win’ a-blowin’ out o’ do’s.
Don’ you kick, ner projick wid de comfo’t,
Less’n fros’ll bite yo’ little toes.
Shut yo’ eyes, an’ snuggle up to mammy;
Gi’ me bofe yo’ han’s, I hol’ ‘em tight;
Don’ you be afeard, an’ ‘meance to trimble
Des ez soon ez I blows out de light.

Angels is a-mindin’ you, my baby,
Keepin’ off de Bad Man in de night.
Whut de use o’ bein’ skeered o’ nuffin’?
You don’ fink de da’kness gwine to bite?
Whut de crackin’ soun’ you hyeah erroun’ you? –
Lawsy, chile, you tickles me to def! –
Dat ‘s de man what brings de fro’ a-paintin’
Picters on de winder wid his bref.

Mammy ain’ afeard, you hyeah huh laffin’?
Go’ way, Mistah Fros’, you can’t come in;
Baby ain’ erceivin’ folks dis evenin’,
Reckon dat you ‘ll have to call ag’in.
Curl yo’ little toes up so, my possum –
Umph, but you ‘s a cunnin’ one fu’ true! –
Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin’,
An’ yo’ mammy ‘s mindin’ of you, too.