begun,
An’ it’s one continyal rowin’ ’twixt us and her
and son.
Marshy dings at mother and mother dings at her,
’F things ain’t settled somehow, sir, they’ll git
to clawin’ fur.
Don’t give up yer proputty, I’m tellin’ on ye
straight.
Don’t keer who your family is, ye’ll rue it sure
as fate.