Oh, de weathah it is balmy an' de breeze is sighin' low, Li'l' gal,
An' de mockin' bird is singin' in de locus by de do', Li'l' gal;
Dere's a-hummin' an' a-bummin' in de lan' f'om eas' to wes',
I's a-sighin' fu' you, honey, an' I nevah know no res'.
Fu' dey's lots o' trouble brewin' an' a-stewin' in my breas', Li'l' gal.

Whut's de mattah wid de weathah, whut's de mattah wid de breeze, Li'l' gal?
Whut's de mattah wid de locus' dat's a-singin' in de trees, Li'l' gal?
W'y dey knows dey ladies love 'em, an' dey knows dey love 'em true,
An' dey love 'em back, I reckon, des' lak I's a-lovin' you;
Dat's de reason dey's a-weavin' an' a-sighin', thoo an' thoo, Li'l' gal.

Don't you let no fella fool you 'cause de clo'es he waihs is fine, Li'l' gal.
Dey's a hones' hea't a-beatin' unnerneaf dese rags o' mine, Li'l' gal.
C'ose dey ain' no use in mockin' whut de birds an' weathah do,
But I's so'y I cain't 'spress it w'en I knows I loves you true,
Dat's de reason I's a-sighin' an' a-singin' now fu' you, Li'l' gal.