The dog has nary right to live
Save as I chance to please, Sir;
It aint no use to cant to me—
If you'd a cowhide whip shun—
Of conscience or humanity,
Or rot of that description.
I du believe the wust o' trash
Is talk o' Christian kindness;
The "coons" we'll hang, or roast, or thrash,
In wrath's red fits o' blindness.