A-lis’nin’ tew the steers thet skwudged around
The muddy yard an’ chawed the’r cuds an’ sighed.
A bunch o’ smallish hogs hed quit the’r rootin’
An’ packed the’rsel’s up close agin the fence,
An’ yew’d ’a’ laft ter hear ’em goin’ ter sleep.
Ef one the runts was squeezed a mite tew much
By ’nother layin’ on ’im kind o’ hard,
He’d snort an’ squeal ter beat a callioap,
Then shove the bunch aside an’ wiggle out,
An’ give ’em fits, an’ then go ’long an’ plunk