Would take a totle stranger up an’ treat him gratis so?
You’d better b’lieve ther’ ’s nothin’ like this spendin’ days an’ nights
Along ’ith a dependent race fer civerlizin’ whites.
But this wuz all prelim’nary; it’s so Gran’ Jurors here
Fin’ a true bill, a hendier way than ourn, an’ nut so dear;
So arter this they sentenced me, to make all tight ’n’ snug,
Afore a reg’lar court o’ law, to ten years in the Jug.
I didn’ make no gret defence: you don’t feel much like speakin’,
When, ef you let your clamshells gape, a quart o’ tar will leak in:
I hev hearn tell o’ wingèd words, but pint o’ fact it tethers