Whist'ling Rufus OR The One Man Band. BY KERRY MILLS.
Down in de South whar de sly ole possum, Hides in de sycamore tree, Dar lived a coon name o' Rufus Blossom, Black as a nigger could be. Rufe had a head like a big sledge hammer, Mouth like a terrible scar, But nothin' could touch him in Alabama, When he played on his old guitar.
Don't make no blunder, you couldn't lose him A perfect wonder, they had to choose him, A great musician, of high position, Was Whist'ling Rufus, the one man band.
Miles he would tramp to a ball or a party, In rainy weather or fine, When he arrived he was welcomed hearty, Out came the chicken and wine. When he was froo wid de wine an' chicken, You'd think dat angels on harps was pickin And dey called him de One Man Band.
Wm. J. Schmidt, 911 W. North Ave. Balto. Md Publisher of weet [sic] Gems chosen from the cultured cream of Musicalgenius [sic].
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