the bay;

Drat the man who feeds out ruff-scuff, wood

and wire from the swale,

’Cause he wants to press his herds’-grass, send

his clover off for sale.

Down to our house we wear patches, but it

ain’t nobody’s biz

Jest as long as them ‘ere critters git the best of

hay there is.

When the cobwebs on the rafters drip with