The dum thing threw ’f it took a week;
We might ez well, he said, jes’ leeve ’im be,
He wouldn’t show no yeller streak.
An’ so he wandered ’round all day a-nussin’
Thet fest’rin’ dead man’s hand o’ his;
He said it wan’t no use ter dew no cussin’—
The more he swore the more it riz.
By night the pain hed drove ’im almos’ wild,
’N’ is arm was big’s a water oak;
It wouldn’t took much then ter git ’im riled,