Me Bannabees

Run ober mango trees, ’Pread chock to kitchen doo’, Watch de blue bannabees, Look how it ben’ down low! De blossom draw de bees Same how de soup draw man; Some call it “broke-pot” peas, It caan’ bruk we bu’n-pan. Wha’ sweet so when it t’ick? Though some call it goat-tud, Me all me finger lick, An’ yet no chew me cud. A mumma plant de root One day jes’ out o’ fun; But now look ’pon de fruit, See wha’ de “mek fun” done. I jam de ’tick dem ’traight Soon as it ’tart fe ’pread, An begin count de date Fe when de pod fe shed. Me watch de vine dem grow, S’er t’row dung a de root: Crop time look fe me slow, De bud tek long fe shoot. But so de day did come, I ’crub de bu’n-pan bright, An’ tu’n down ’pon it from De marnin’ till de night. An’ Lard! me belly swell, No ’cause de peas no good, But me be’n tek a ’pell Mo’ dan a giant would. Yet eben after dat Me nyam it wid a will, ’Causen it mek me fat; So I wi’ lub it still. Caan’ talk about gungu, Fe me it is no peas; Cockstone might do fe you, Me want me bannabees.