And go peggin’ agin.
Patientest feller, too, I reckon, at every jes’ naturally
Coughed hisse’f to death!
Long enough after his voice was lost he’d laugh and say,
He could git ever’thing but his breath—
“You fellers,” he’d sort o’ twinkle his eyes and say,
“Is pilin’ onto me
A mighty big debt for that air little weak-chested ghost o’ mine to pack
Through all eternity!”
Now there was a man ’at jes’ ’peared like to me,