Sunsets from our back porch, the furrers I
Hev cut with our ol’ walkin’ plow—Oh Paw,
Yew git me, don’t ye!—then I come ri’t back
An’ look acrost ter whar them Boshes be,
An’ think o’ all the things they done an’ still
Ar’ doin’ ter make this airth a mizzery,
Mad, desp’rit things drove on by them ez knows
They’re in daid ’rong but never’ll give a dam
’Bout lyin’, killin’—then I know my job,
’N’ I’m glad I’m here, ’n’ I know yew be—”