Oh, de weathah it is balmy an' de breeze is sighin' low, Lit'l gal,
An' de mockin' bird is singin' in de locus by de do', Lit'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 stewin' and' a-brewin' in my breas', Lit'l gal.

 ... 

Don't you let no da'ky fool you 'cause de clo'es he waihs is fine, Lit'l gal.
Dey's a hones' hea't a-beatin' unnerneaf dese rags o' mine, Lit'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, Lit'l gal.