By Harrison Robertson
You Wi’yam, cum ’ere, suh, dis instunce. Wu’ dat you got under dat box?
I do’ want no foolin’—you hear me? Wut you say? Ain’t nu’h’n but rocks?
’Peahs ter me you’s owdashus p’ticler. S’posin’ dey’s uv a new kine.
I’ll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi yi! der you think dat I’s bline?
I calls dat a plain water-million, you scamp, en I knows whah it growed;
It come fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel’, dah on ter side er de road.
You stole it, you rascal—you stole it! I watched you fum down in de lot.
En time I gets th’ough wid you, nigger, you won’t eb’n be a grease spot!
I’ll fix you. Mirandy! Mirandy! go cut me a hick’ry—make ’ase!