Quashie to Buccra

You tas’e^[1] petater^[2] an’ you say it sweet,
But you no know how hard we wuk^[3] fe it;
You want a basketful fe quattiewut,^[4]
‘Cause you no know how ‘tiff de bush fe cut.^[5]

De cowitch^[6] under which we hab fe ‘toop,
De shamar^[7] lyin’ t’ick like pumpkin soup,
Is killin’ somet’ing^[8] for a naygur man;
Much less^[9] de cutlass workin’ in we han’.

De sun hot like when fire ketch a town^[10];
Shade-tree look temptin’, yet we ca~m’ lie down,
Aldough we wouldn’ eben ef we could,
Causen we job must finish soon an’ good.^[11]

De bush cut done, de bank dem we deh dig,^[12]
But dem caan’ ‘tan’ sake o’ we naybor pig;
For so we moul’ it up he root it do’n,^[13]
An’ we caan’ ‘peak sake o’ we naybor tongue.^[14]

Aldough de vine is little, it can bear;
It wantin”not’in’ but a little care:
You see petater tear up groun’, you run,^[15]
You laughin’, sir, you must be t’ink a fun.^[16]

De fie!’ pretty? It couldn’t less ‘an dat,^[17]
We wuk de bes’,^[18] an’ den de lan’ is fat;
We dig de row dem eben in a line,
An’ keep it clean-den so it mus’ look fine.

You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet,
But you no know how hard we wuk fe it;
Yet still de hardship always melt away
Wheneber it come roun’ to reapin’ day.