Kaffir baby, Kaffir baby, Going to the kraal,Are you really comfortable Hanging in your shrawl?
Niddle noddle, niddle noddle, Goes your little head,Keeping time, all willy nilly, To your mother's tread.
Any little English baby, In your place, would bake:If its head went wag as yours does, O how it would ache!
When you grow a little bigger You will run all bare,In the heat of summer weather And the winter air.
Any little English babies -- Babies such as I --If they lived the life that you do, I am sure, would die.
Yet you look quite fat and happy Hanging in your shawl,And, when you're a grown-up Kaffir, You'll be strong and tall.
You will drive a team of oxen, You will sow and dig --Just the things that I should like to Do, when I am big.
