STAY your hasty hands, my comrades,
\nI must speak to you again ;
\nFor you beat de dog ‘dout mussy,
\nAn’ dey are we night-time frien’.
\nTreat dem kindly, treat dem kindly,
\nFor dey are God’s creatures too ;
\nYou have no more claim, dear comrades,
\nOn de earth dan what dey do.<\/p>\n
‘Cos you locked him up in barracks
\nT’rough some failin’ point o’ his,
\nYou mus’ beatin’ him so badly
\nFor de little carelessness ?
\nTreat dem kindly, etc.<\/p>\n
When de hours are cold an’ dreary,
\nAn’ I’m posted on me beat,
\nAn’ me tired heavy body
\nWeighs upon me weary feet;<\/p>\n
When I think of our oppressors
\nWid mixed hatred an’ don’-care,
\nAn’ de ugly miau of torn-puss
\nRings out sharply on de air,<\/p>\n
Oftentimes dem come aroun’ me
\nWid dem free an’ trusting soul,
\nLying do’n or gambolling near me
\nWid a tender sort o’ gro’l :<\/p>\n
An’ I snap my fingers at them,
\nWhile dey wag dem tail at me;
\nCan you wonder dat I love dem,
\nDem, me night-time company?
\nTreat dem kindly, etc.<\/p>\n
Sometimes dey’re a bit too noisy So, dear comrades, don’t ill-treat him,
\nWid deir long leave-taking bark;[1]<\/sup><\/a>
\nBut I tell you what, it cheers me
\nWhen de nights are extra dark.<\/p>\n
\nYou won’t mek me talk in vain;
\n‘Member, when de hours are dreary,
\nHe’s de poor dog-driver’s frien’.
\nTreat dem kindly, etc.<\/p>\n