And followed with a tree or two;
It hit me with a rotten squash,
And give me fits with Marm Jones’ wash.
But ’twarn’t no use, suh, Zek’l Pratt
Ain’t built to scare at things like that.
I jest let into that air tyke
And punched its innards reg’lar-like
With them ’ere boards, and honest true,
I split her square and plumb in two.
One half went yowlin’ by to right