I ain’t tradin’ my momma fo’ no whiskey

I ain’t tradin my momma fo no whiskey
No matta she hits me on de head
Ain’t tradin’ my momma fo no whiskey
No twenty-year-old mash I said

Can’t see tradin’ no momma fo no liquor
Even though she hollers and wails
Betta keep that woman ‘round fo de evenin’
In case I goes to de downtown jails.

Can’t look at my momma through no bottle
Clear glass or porcelain I think
She wash my drawers and mops de floors
When I sneaks out fo a drink.
– From Song of the Roustabout
New Orleans, 1847