Plantation Proverbs

Today is the birthday of Joel Chandler Harris, the creator of the Uncle Remus Stories and the beloved Br'er Rabbit, Br'er Fox, and Br'er Bear. Though Harris is now obscure as an author, luminaries of the past such as Theodore Roosevelt and Mark Twain read the Uncle Remus stories to their enthusiastic children.

http://www.uncleremus.com/ has done a fair job of seeking to restore interest in Harris and his famous stories. Below are some "Plantation Proverbs" I enjoyed today.

[Harris worked on the Turnwold plantation as a newspaper apprentice during his early teenage years. UncleRemus.com relates: "At Turnwold, Harris began his lifelong friendship with animals and with the plantation Negroes, whose folklore would later fill his writings. Fortunately, the youngster was associated with such aged and colorful slaves as 'Uncle' George Terrell and 'Uncle' Bob Capers. They had a gift for story-telling which Harris was later able to capture."]

BIG ’possum clime little tree.
Dem w’at eats kin say grace.
Ole man Know-All died las’ year.
Better de gravy dan no grease ’tall.
Dram ain’t good twel you git it.
Lazy fokes’ stummucks don’t git tired.
Rheumatiz don’t he’p at de log-rollin’.
Mole don’t see w’at his naber doin’.
Save de pacin’ mar’ fer Sunday.
Don’t rain eve’y time de pig squeal.
Crow en corn can’t grow in de same fier.
Tattlin’ ’oman can’t make de bread rise.
Rails split ’fo’ bre’kfus’ ll season de dinner.
Dem w’at knows too much sleeps under de ash-hopper.
Ef you wanter see yo’ owil sins, clean up a new groun’.
Hog dunner w’ich part un ’ilnil season de turnip salad.
Hit’s a blessin’ de w’ite sow don’t shake de plum-tree.
Winter grape sour, whedder you kin reach ’im or not.
Mighty po’ bee dat don’t make mo’ honey dan he want.
Kwishins on mule’s foots done gone out er fashun.
Pigs dunno w’at a pen’s fer.
Possum’s tail good as a paw.
Dogs don’t bite at de front gate.
Colt in de barley-patch kick high.
Jay-bird don’t rob his own nes’.
Pullet can’t roost too high for de owl.
Meat fried ’fo’ day won’t las’ twel night.
Stump water won’t kyo de gripes.
De howlin’ dog know w’at he sees.
Bline hoss don’t fall w’en he follers de bit.
Hongry nigger won’t w’ar his maul out.
Don’t fling away de empty wallet.
Black-snake know de way ter de hin nes’.
Looks won’t do ter split rails wid.
Settin’ hens don’t hanker arter fresh aigs.
Tater-vine growin’ w’ile you sleep.
Hit take two birds fer to make a nes’.
Ef you bleedzd ter eat dirt, eat clean dirt.
Tarrypin walk fast ’nuff fer to go visitin’.
Empty smoke-house makes de pullet holler.
W’en coon take water he fixin’ fer ter fight.
Corn makes mo’ at de mill dan it does in de crib.
Good luck say: “Op’n yo’ mouf en shet yo’ eyes.”
Nigger dat gets hurt wukkin oughter show de skyars.
Fiddlin’ nigger say hit’s long ways ter de dance.
Rooster makes mo’ racket dan de hin w’at lay de aig.
Meller mush-million hollers at you fum over de fence.
Nigger wid a pocket-han’kcher better be looked atter.
Rain-crow don’t sing no chune, but youk’n ’pen’ on Im.
One-eyed mule can’t be handled on de bline side.
Moon may shine, but a lightered knot’s mighty handy.
Licker talks mighty loud w’en it git loose fum de jug.
De proudness un a man don’t count w’en his head’s cold.
Hongry rooster don’t cackle w’en he fine a wum.
Some niggers mighty smart, but dey can’t drive de pidgins ter roos’.
You may know de way, but better keep yo’ eyes on de seven stairs.
All de buzzards in de settlement ’ll come to de gray mule’s funeri.
Youk’n hide de fier, but w’at you gwine do wid de smoke?
Ter-morrow may be de car-ridge-driver’s day for ploughin’.
Hit’s a mighty deaf nigger dat don’t year de dinner-ho’n.
Hit takes a bee fer ter git de sweetness out’n de hoar-houn’ blossom.
Ha’nts don’t bodder longer hones’ folks, but you better go ’roun’ de grave-yard.
De pig dat runs off wid de year er corn gits little mo’ dan decob.
Sleepin’ in de fence-cornder don’t fetch Chrismus in de kitchen.
De spring-house may freeze, but de niggers ’ll keep de shuck-pen warm.
’Twix’ de bug en de bee-martin ’tain’t hard ter tell w’ich gwineter git kotch.
Don’t ’sput wid de squinch-owl. Jam de shovel in de fier.
You’d see mo’ er de mink ef he know’d whar de yard dog sleeps.
Troubles is seasonin’, ’simmons ain’t good twel dey ’er fros’-bit.
Watch out w’en you’er gittin all you want. Fattenin’ hogs ain’t in luck.