Instid o’ you an’ me!”
Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,
On your front-parlor stairs,
Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait an’ sue their heirs?
Ole Uncle S. sez he, “I guess,
I on’y guess,” sez he,
“Thet, ef Vattel on his toes fell,
’T would kind o’ rile J. B.,
Ez well ez you an’ me!”