Mother, Mother, now I'm married

voiceCollected by Mary Celestia Parler; Transcribed by Neil Byer Mrs. Jim Crymes DeVall's Bluff, Ark July, 1954 Reel 202, Item 2 Willie Weaver Mother, Mother, now I'm married And I wish I'd longer tarried, For my wife she declares That my britches she will wear. Oh, my son, what is the matter? Does she frown or does she flatter? Or is she moping around? Tell me quick, my loving son. Go on home and learn to love her, Let me hear no more discover, And if she does revel, Take a stick and whip her well. On his road a stranger met him, Told him something that would fret him, What do you reckon I spied As I passed by your doorside? Saw your wife and Willie Weaver Going around the house together, They walked and they talked till they came to the door, In they went and I saw them no more. I went on home in a terrible wonder, Knocked on the door and it roared like thunder, Who is that, the weaver cried, That's my husband, you must hide. Open the door and in he entered, Up the chimley Willie ventured, Where have you been so long, my love? Leaving me poor girl alone? Reel 202, Item 2, con't. Hush, oh, hush, you false deceiver, While I look for Willie Weaver Put on the pot and do it quick, Make some gruel, I'm awfully sick. Built him on a roasting fire, All on his own desire, His wife cried out with a free good will, Stir them coals, the man you'll kill. Looked up the chimley all amazing, There sat Willie all a-gazing, Poor old Bill, the wretched old soul, Sitting astraddle of a pot-a-rack pole. Up he retched and down he fetched him, Like a raccoon dog he shook him, Sent him with a great surprise, A bleeding nose and two black eyes. At the gate his wife she met him, Over the head with a shovel she beat him, Where it was black she made it red, Now poor Bill wished he was dead.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation