By Melvin B. Tolson
The night John Henry is born an ax
of lightning splits the sky,
and a hammer of thunder pounds the earth,
and the eagles and panthers cry!
John Henry—he says to his Ma and Pa:
“Get a gallon of barleycorn.
I want to start right, like a he-man child,
the night that I am born!”
Says: “I want some ham hocks, ribs, and jowls,
a pot of cabbage and greens;
some hoecackes, jam, and buttermilk,
a platter of pork and beans!”
John Henry’s Ma—she wrings her hands,
and his Pa—he scratches his head.
John Henry—he curses in giraffe-tall words,
flops over, and kicks down the bed.
He’s burning mad, like a bear on fire—
so he tears to the riverside.
As he stoops to drink, Old Man River gets scared
and runs upstream to hide!
Some say he was born in Georgia—O Lord!
Some say in Alabam.
But it’s writ on the rock at the Big Bend Tunnel:
“Lousyana was my home. So scram!”
Most of John Henry's stories are told in the forms of songs, work songs sung on the job to keep the mind off work and the pain of tired muscles easier to ignore. These songs started among the people who worked the rails, who dug the coal and blasted the tunnels through the mountains.

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