Ez regards ter the Skillet—wal, pardner, b’leeve me,
It’s right in its prime, buggosh;
Yew kin talk all yer wanter, it’s fine ter jes’ sawnter
An’ look at ol’ Nacher a-slosh.
I was thar spell ago—druv sixteen mile
With Bill an’ a load o’ soy beans;
An’ I swar ter the Dooce thet I never hed knowed
Afore what greenin’ means.
Be’n a-rainin’ like sin, but hed then faired up
An’ the sky was julluk a gentian;