Bill ’lows ’e ain’t no pote, but fust I knowed
He ups an’ gits the foll’rin’ off ’is chist,
An’ damfino ’f ’e made it up hisself,
Or got it some’r’s outen readin’ books:
“I’m speckerlatin’ on the drift
O’ things I gotta face.
Mos’ ginally they ain’t no rift
In all them clouds o’ space
Thet seems ter narrer in my view
An’ shet the sky from me an’ yew.