“’S a pretty good night fer coons; so still
Yer kin hear yer heart when yer’ve clum up hill.”
I sensed what he meant, so I flaxed around,
An’ in less ’n no time we was out on the trail.
Bill’s houn’ dawg, ol’ Jess, was sniffin’ the ground
Pertendin’ tew ax, “Is it ’possum or quail?”
Tho’ she knowed well enough thet a Hunter’s Moon
Don’t never mean nuthin’ ’cept ’possum or coon.
I’ve heerd tell o’ moonlights on earth here an’ thar,
In Venice, an’ down in ol’ Rome’s Colyseum;