Ching a Ring Chaw

[WARNING: This song contains antiquated racial stereotypes. It is presented here for historical and educational purposes only.]

A 1833 popular song

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The sheet music:

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Accompaniment by Benjamin R. Tubb:

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Lyrics

1. Broder let us leabe, Buera lan for Hettee,
   Dar you be receibe Gran as La Fayette;
   Make a mity show, wen we lan from steamship
   I be like Munro, You like Louis Philip,

Refrain
Chinger ringer, ring ching, ching
Ho ah, dingah ding kum darkee,
Chinger ringer, ring ching chaw,
Ho ah ding kum darkey.

2. Oh dat equal sod, hoo no want to goe
   Dare we feel no rod, dar we hab no foe
   Dar we lib so fine wid our coach and horse,
   An ebery time we dine, hab one, two, three, four, corseee.
3. No more carry bed, no more oister opee,
   No more dig de sod, no more krab de slope,
   But hab whiskers gran, an promenade de stovee,
   Wid beauties od be lan, were we in full dress meete.
4. No more carry bag an wid a nail and ticke,
   Nasty dirty rag, wit gutte picke,
   No more barrow wheel all about de streete,
   No more baige to tred, den by massa beate.
5. No more white man stare, wen he stand in mobe,
   And felte our lubly fair, which make em sigh and sobe
   Dar our wibes be gran, and in dimons shine.
   While ebery kullered man, hab much he drink ob winee.
6. Dar we make de best sugar, fetch from Havanna,
   While our dorters fair, play on de piano,
   No more cry bad corn, or pepper pot all hote,
   But work de lubly korn, and res in sturdy grade.
7. No more our sons cry weep, no more he be the backe
   No more our dorters weep, kase dey all call em blacke,
   Mo more dey wan to be, no more wash and cooke.
   But ebery day we see em read de novel booke.
8. No more wid black and [handshake?] bond and shoe to shine,
   But hab all tidings flash, and all ob ’em sublime,
   No more dance for eel, am all dat kind of fishe,
   No more cat corn meal, but hab de best ob dishe,
9. Dar we hab parties big, dar dance an play de fiddle,
   Der waltz an hab de jig, cast off an down de middle,
   Den in gran saloon, we take the blushin damsel,
   Where eyes shine like de moon, an ebery mood de cram full,
10. Dar dance at nite de jig, what what man call cotillion
    In hall so mity big it hole haff a million;
    Den take our partners out, den forward two mallocke
    De cross an turn about, an den go home in hacke.
11. Dar too we are sure to make our dorters de fine lade,
    And wen de husbans take, dey love de common grade
    An den perhaps our son, he rise in glorious splender,
    An be like Washington, be contry’s defender

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Sung here by Fred Feild: