Joe, Ellis
Stackolee
Get Your Ass in the Water and Swim Like Me!
"Get Your Ass in the Water and Swim Like Me" is considered one of the great, classic collections of African-American literature and folklore. Originally published by in 1974, it quickly gained the reputation as a classic collection of black folk poetry. This book will delight students of African-American culture and folklore, and anyone who enjoys the double entendres and hidden meanings found in the oral tradition, from its African roots to contemporary rap.
Henry, Ramsey version
Frank, Ramsey version
Bobby, Jefferson City version
Gene, Wynne version
Chicago Informant's version
Bob, Connelly Migrant Camp version
Stackolee in Hell
Joe, Ellis, 24 March 1966
Stackolee
It was back in the year of forty-on when the times was hard, I had a sawed-off shotgun and a marked deck of cards. I has a faded blue suit and a slouch down hat, I had a T-model Ford and no payments on that. I waded through water and I sloshed through mud, till I came to the place they call Bucket of Blood. I said, "Say, Mr. Bartender, please, will you give me something to eat?" He gave me some bitter-assed water and tough-assed meat. I say, "Say,man, you must not know who I am." He say, "Frankly, sonofabitch, I don't give a goddamn." I said, "Say, man, my nam is Stack, and I'm from down the way." He said, "I don't care about your name being Stack and from down the way." say, "I meet a hungry person like you each and every day." About that time the poor boy was dead with three of my thirty-eight rockets in his head. A little later on a lady walks in, she say, "Where can the bartender be, please?" I said, "He's layin' over in the corner with his mind at ease." Sh said, "Oh, no, my son," say, "he can't be dead!" I said, "You better look at them three wide-assed holes in his head." Little later, about you would hear the drop of a pin, that's when Billy Lane walks in. He said, "Who can the murderer of this poor man be?" I said, "Me, Stackolee." He said, "I gonna give you just one chance to run before I draw my old Gatling gun." Now just about the time I got him in my thirty-eight sight a waitress slipped over and cut out the light. But now when the light come on Billy was dead, he had two more rockets in his head. Early the next morning at quarter to ten, they carried me before the judge and twelve other men. He said, "What can the charges of this poor man be?" They said, "Murder, your honour, in the first degree." Judge said, "Well, son, I'm gonna give you a little old sixty-year sentence." I said, "Judge, sixty years ain't no sentence, sixty years ain't no time," I says, "I got a old buddy over on Ellis doin' ninety-nine"