(Her thirds wuz part in cotton-land, part in the curse o’ Canaan,)
An’ here I be ez lively ez a chipmunk on a wall,
With nothin’ to feel riled about much later ’n Eddam’s fall.
Ez fur ez human foresight goes, we made an even trade:
She gut an overseer, an’ I a fem’ly ready-made,
(The youngest on ’em’s ’most growed up,) rugged an’ spry ez weazles,
So’s ’t ther’ ’s no resk o’ doctors’ bills fer hoopin’-cough an’ measles.
Our farm’s at Turkey-Buzzard Roost, Little Big Boosy River,
Wal located in all respex,—fer ’t ain’t the chills ’n’ fever
Thet makes my writin’ seem to squirm; a Southuner’d allow I’d