Once jitney cabs that taxied us
On Chicago’s south side
Competed with the city bus
At just ten cents a ride
From, thirty third to sixty sixth
Up and down South Parkway
That’s who we used to travel with
Twenty four hours a day
On Indiana Avenue
A half mile to the west
They operated jitneys, too
For some, that street was best
A jitney ride was one we'd share
With folks we didn't know
We all paid the exact same fare
However far we'd go
As long as it was South and North
Up and down those two streets
Where jitneys travelled back and forth
When money was called, "geets"
They'd carry us to our address
For a much higher fare
Put fellow passengers in stress
When they'd turn off somewhere
Then fellow passengers got stuck
With extra travelin' time
Since everybody knew a buck
Went further than a dime
The drivers had to spot a fare
Then looking out for cops
They’d cut through traffic (what a scare!)
Coming to sudden stops
At intersections where they’d pause
To pick up or discharge
And then, defying physics laws
Tear up the boulevard
“Cowboys” was what the public called
These real rough riding dudes
Who kept cops and bus drivers galled
And gave them attitudes
Some jitneys cabs were works of art
With flashy horns and lights
A lot of extra special parts
That made them sporty sights
Inside they kept that gaudy look
Of colored cab decor
Reflecting pains the driver took
To give passengers more
Most jitneys, though, were raggedy
Like ;little rolling slums
When running late, how glad we’d be
For any kind that comes
Cabs then were built to taxi five
Or so the law would state
But to the jitneys that was jive
They’d pack in six or eight
The first three sat in the rear seat
Three more took up two “jumps”
Up with the driver two more squeezed
A total of nine rumps
Nine Negroes of the working class
The black salt of the earth
All bunched together, ass to ass
We got our money’s worth
A change of personalities
Took place at every curb
Some exchanged cordiality’s
Others “do not disturb”
Some had positions they would take
Viewpoints to represent
Comments they felt compelled to make
About some news event
Some had a joke or two to tell
To make the whole cab roar
A few complained of catching hell
A lot would give them more
We jammed a jitney’s cubicle
Like sardines you would pack
Exchanging all our usual
Comments on being black
A close colored cam’raderie
Quite often warmed that space
Especially when we got to see
An old familiar face
Or when some foxy stranger whom
We never would have met
Seduced the air with her perfume
How fragrant it could get
At other times a reeking drunk
Would blow to bend an ear
Exhaling alcoholic funk
Into the atmosphere
Passengers smoked and choked and joked
Along the jitney’s route
Quite often getting pushed and poked
And stepped upon to boot
And up front, Jitney Jack who drives
Is captain of this ship
And though this “cowboy”shucks and jives
Jitney Jack is real hip
He compliments the pretty chicks
And cusses with the cats
Fixing what all he has to fix
His motor, tickets, flats
A pair of dice and baby shoes
Dangle above his dash
His radio is set on blues
His heart is set on cash
The checker cabs and yellows, too
Charged what their meters showed
Their drivers were white fellows who
When looking for a load
Could line up at a taxi stand
All proper and polite
From which city officials banned
Most cabbies who weren’t white
Black cabbies had a different slave
“Cowboys” like Jitney Jack
Could seldom make enough to save
Often enough to lack
His earnings went for gas and oil
And that high rent he paid
For the license to daily toil
All taxicabs displayed
The “official medallion” which
Let taxi owners shirk
While taxi drivers made them rich
Performing all the work
Jack paid the bribes and fines and fees
And keep the car repaired
And often saw a sharp decrease
In what expenses spared
The taxi owners wanted more
Than the traffic would bare
And bus stockholders clamored for
“Increased earnings per share”
So Jitney Jack snatches and grabs
And recklessly competes
With city busses, other cabs
And always the police
The cops favored the bus, of course
Bus drivers were all white
So the Chicago Police force
Backed them with all its might
Jitneys got a hard way to go
Their drivers were harassed
Accused of flying down too low
Or slowing down too fast
Of picking up too many souls
Or letting out too few
Harassing jitneys, any old
Police excuse would do
But busses in our part of town
Ran few and far between
And no one wants to stand aroun’
When “hawk” is blowin’ mean
In driven snows and drenching rains
When hot suns sizzled high
We ‘d wait upon the bus in vain
And then a cab came by
That’s how the jitneys held their own
Moving the neighborhood
When counting on the bus alone
Would have been no damn good
Bus drivers had the better gigs
Uniformed and well paid
For ordinary working stiffs
They seemed to have it made
But these good jobs which only white
Applicants ever filled
Were denied Jitney Jack despite
His being highly skilled
The “cowboys” had to ride their range
Providing dangerous thrills
As they competed for “chump change”
In order to pay bills
A jitney driver drove his car
The way his life drove him
Quite often going fast too far
At risk of life and limb
Some dangers Jitney Jack might dare
A dozen times a day
When rushing for a load up there
A block or two away
Go speeding through a traffic light
Come screeching to a halt
Change lanes, swerving from left to right
On hearing, “taxi”,” called
The cabs and busses warred for years
And neither gave a break
As competition grew more fierce
With livelihoods at stake
Until one day when Jitney Jack
And a big bus collide
And we learn for a fatal fact
He’s taken his last ride
That was a long, long time ago
Now very few recall
Those thrilling rides we used to know
When jitneys rode us all
Jitneys were a convenience
By which some black men got paid
To beat the lack of lenience
White society displayed
The needs the jitneys cabs once met
We now meet other ways
They were vehicles to get
Us to this later phase
Bus driving’s integrated now
Its color line destroyed
At least, sufficient to allow
Negroes to be employed
No more the gallant daily charge
Of jitney cab brigades
No black cam’raderie at large
After it integrates
A certain sense of fighting back
Community and pride
For which the jitneys had a knack
Like Jitney Jack has died
Or if it managed to survive
To seek a fairer share
If you know where it’s still alive
I wish you’d take me there
I board the bus these days and see
The driver’s someone black
And wonder whether he or she
Is kin to Jitney Jack
That bold “cowboy” who taxied us
On Chicago’s South Side
Competing with the city bus
At just ten cents a ride