The slaves in the quarters are buzzing and talking. —All though the winter the ha’nts went walking, Ha’nts the size of a horse or bigger, Ghost-patrollers, scaring a nigger, But now the winter’s over and broken, And the sun shines out like a lovin’ token, There’s goin’ to be mixin’s and mighty doin’s, Chicken-fixin’s and barbecuin’s, Old Marse Billy’s a-comin’ home! He’s slewn a brigade with a ha’nts’s jaw-bone, He’s slewn an army with one long sabre, He’s scared old Linkum ’most to death, Now he’s comin’ home to rest from he labor, Play on he fiddle and catch he breath!