De Appile Tree

Joel Chandler Harris

Dat's a mighty quare tale, 'bout de appile tree

In de pah'dise gyardin, whar Adam runned free,

Whar de butter-flies drunk honey wid ole mammy bee.

Talk about yo good times, I bet you he had 'em—Adam—

Adam en Eve, an' de appile tree.

He woke one mawnin wid a pullin at he sleeve;

He open his eye, an' dar was Eve—

He shook her han', wid a "Honey, don' grieve.

You's de only gal on earth for me

An' dats de truf, believe."

Talk about yo good times, I'll bet you dey had 'em—Adam—

Adam en Eve, an' de appile tree.

Den Eve took a bite er de appile fruit

En Adam he bit, en den dey scoot.

Dar's whar de niggah leahn de quick cally hoot,

Ben a runnin' ever since from somebody's boot.

En runned en hide behin' de fig tree—Adam—

Adam en Eve behin' de fig tree.

Dey had der frolics, en dey had dere flings,

Den arter dat, de fun tuck wings,

Honey's mighty sweet, but bees has stings

An' dey came into de shadder dat de storm cloud brings.

Talk about yo hahd times, u-h-m uhm,

I bet you dey had 'em—Adam—

Adam en Eve behin' de fig tree.

Kase outer de gyardin dey had fur tuh skin.

Ter fin' de crack whar Satan crept in

Dey sarch fur and wide, dey sarch mighty well.

Eve, she knowed, but she 'fused fur ter tell.

Ole Satan's trail was all rubbed out

'Ceppen a track er two, whar he walked about.

Talk about troubles, I bet you dey had 'em—Adam—

Adam en Eve, en all dere kin.

Well, when dey got back de gate wuz shut.

An' dat wuz de pay, what Adam got.

In dat gyardin he went no moh.

De ober-seer gib him a shobel en a hoe,

A mule, en a plow, en a swingle tree,

Talk about yo hahd times, I bet you dey had 'em—Adam—

En all uh his chillen bofe slave en free.

En de chillen ob Adam, en de chillen's kin,

Dey all got smeared wid de pitch ob sin.

Dey shut dere eyes, to de great here-atter,

En flung sin aroun', wid a turrible splatter.

En cahooted wid Satan, en dat wat de matter—

An' troubles, well. I bet you dey had 'em—Adam—

De chillen ob Adam, what forgot ter pray, dey had 'em,

And dey keep on a hadden 'em down tuh dis day.

But dat wa'n't de las' ob de appile tree,

Kase she scatter her seeds bofe fur en free,

And dat's whut de mattah wid you en me,

I knows de feelin's what brought on de fall,

Dat same ole appile, an' ole Satan's call,

Lor' bless yo chile, I knows 'em all.

I'm kinder lop-sided en pigeon toed

But jes' you watch me keep in de middle ob de road.

Kase de troubles I'se got is a mighty heavy load.

Talk about troubles, I got 'em en had 'em,

Same as Adam.

An' don' yo see I mighty well know

Dat I got 'em from Adam long ago,

From Adam en Eve en de appile tree,

When dey runned free
In de pahdise gyardin
Wid butter-flies en honey bee?