An' grabbles wums, I tell you! like de yurly bird I is.
I's alluz berry 'ticlar 'bout de season ob the moon;
De dark ob hit is fishin'-time—an' time for huntin' coon;
An' den its mighty 'portant, too, as notus shed be tuk
Ob varis' little sarcumstances bearin' on de luck:
You has to spit upon de bait afore you draps it in;
Den keep yo' cork a-bobbin', des as easy as you kin;
Ef someone steps acrost de pole, you knows yo' luck is broke,
Widout dey steps it back agin afore a word is spoke.
Don't nebber, not for nuffin, think ob countin' ob yo' string;