Parson Johnson's chicken brigade

              Oh de moon am shinin' bright,
An' de coon's am out tonight
An' we'll rob de deacon's hen-roost to' de dawn
If we coon's don't work to slow
An' de rooster's do not crow
We'll hab a chicken pot-pie in de morn.
Parson Johnson am our leader,
He's de boss old chicken stealer
An' he tote's his razor an' he car's a gun
Dar's gwine to be some fun
If de chicken's dey do run,
From de Parson's Chicken Brigade.
Now!

Now you black coon's all fall in,
An' we'll hab some nigger gin
Den I'll call de roll ob dis dark-town patrol.
Now ma' 'struction's to ma leader's 
An' dis band ob chicken stealer's
Dat bag's de noblest bird dat squats de roost.
You mus' sneak dem rooster's quietly
Or dem birds' will crow precisely
When you nigger's boos' yo' brudder's to de roost
Swar to me dat you will land
Wid yo' trusty blade in hand
On de nigger's not in dis band
Now!

Oh! de church bells dey do ring,
An' de black coons all flock in,
An' de lamb of God will preach dis Sunday morn
He will preach on chicken stealin' 
Now you wicked coons be kneelin'
When de parson climbs de pulpit ob de Lord;
Now you niggers' I'm a squealin'
Fo' I'se cused ob chicken stealin'
Now den, draw yo' razors, dars gwine to be a fight,
Fo' I'se gwine to take a hand,
Wid dis razor I will land,
On de niggers ob dis coon church.

Ebery coon did draw his steel,
An' de Parson he did peal,
An' de Deacon's an' de wenches de did squeal.
Dar waz blood upon de moon,
An' ded wenches and ded coons,
But de Parson he waz leader ob de race.
He had drawn de winnin' hand,
Wid his razor he did land,
Cullud chillun, how he made dem black coons squark.
He's a tough ole sparrow hawk,
An' de boos cock ob de walk,
An' de Parson ob dis coon church.

Now de church am draped in mornin'
On dis solom sabbaf mornin'
An' de parson, he am full ob nigger gin,
He am on annudder lark,
An' hab lost his golden harp,
An' de niggers say he am no lamb of God.
All de deacons dey am sighin'
An' de wenches am a cryin'
Fo' dere lubbed ones dat was slaughtered in de fight,
Now de funeral starts at three,
What a dark sight it will be,
Fo' de Lord an' Debbil to see.

Chorus
Fall in you black coon's jine de Parson's Brigade,
We'll rob all de hen rost's wid dis dark-town Brigade.
So coon's draw yo' razor's now an' don't work to slow,
An' bag dem big Rooster's fo' dey am sho' to crow.
Don't you hear dem rooster's crow
Coon's we'll bag dem fo' we go.