The Black Four Hundred - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
THE BLACK FOUR HUNDRED. Copyright, 1897, by Spaulding & Gray. Words And Music by Irving Jones. 
There's a club called Black Four Hundred, it's composed of dead swell coons, It's hotter than the Skidmore Guards, or the Order of Full Moons; You'll see the latest styles and fashions when these coons parade, They lay all other coon clubs in the shade; You must wear pearls And diamonds If you want to be in line, You've got to be a hot coon, and your clothing must be fine, And when those coons turn out on Emancipation Day, On the corners you will hear the wenches say: 
Chorus. See the Black Four Hundred a-coming down the street; Now, don't those coons look hot as along the street they trot? If you listen, you'll hear the kinkey-headed wenches say: The Black Four Hundred are on parade to-day. 
If you want to be a member, you must be an aristocrat, You must wear patent-leather shoes, And a great big heaver hat; For drilling and cake-walking, why, our equals can't be found, The white folks say we're the hottest coons in town; We're going to give a pic-nic and we're bound to have a crowd, Because both guns and razors on the grounds will be allowed; We're going to give a grand parade, quite early in the day, Upon Fifth Avenue you'll hear them say;- Chorus.