An’ kind o’ grudged ter hev ter gwout an’ feed
The colts ’fore settin’ down an’ lightin’ up.
But now the work was done, an’ thar I was
Ez comf’tabul an’ ca’m ez I could be,
Suckin’ an’ blowin’ great big gobs o’ smoke,
An’ strangulatin’ three four hundred flies
Thet got the’rsel’s all settled fer the night.
Bill picked ’is teeth ez quiet ez a lamb,
An’ didn’t make no sound, ’cept ’cazhnully,
When one my puffs would veer agin ’is face,