And hollered stiddy, ‘Blood and brain, I’m
dead; oh, blood and brain!’
Old Uncle Clark was on his back, a-listening to
the fuss,
And wonderin’ whuther that old gun had
murdered him or us.
“Now that’s the way the thing come off. Best
is,” concluded Bart,
“They warn’t nobody hurt a mite: three-fifty
fixed the cart.”