University of Virginia Library


55

THE HARD-HEADED WOMAN

Now, den, honey, I tell you what,
You'll be like de 'oman an' de big dinner-pot
Ef yo' don't min' yo' mammy. You don't see how come it?
Well, I tell you right now, you ain't fur fum it;
You kin blin'fol' my eyes, an' I'll call yo' name—
It's “Hello, Mr. Hardhead! Ain't you 'shame'?”
You kin grin an' twis' an' squirm an' frown,
But I know yo' name by de way it soun'—
Don't dull dat shoe-knife! Des put it down!
Don't pester my pegs! an' des drap dat awl!
You'll stick yo'se'f wid it, an' den you'll squall—

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Don't fool wid my fillin's! don't scatter de tacks,
You'll drap um on de flo' an' lose um in de cracks—
Don't tangle my twine, an' don't chaw up my wax!
What kin you do? Why, set still a minnit,
An' de way fer ter do it is ter commence an' begin it!
I tell you, honey, you done got so wil'
Dat nobody'll b'lieve you er Miss Sally's chil'!
You wanter hear a tale? Well, you sho do skeer me!
Kaze how kin you set right still an' hear me?
De ol' sow done got up fum whar you knocked 'er,
An' de heifer is lookin' fer ter see who rocked 'er;
You er sholy ailin', an' you'll hatter see de doctor!
I dunner what gwine ter happen ef dey ain't sump'n done—

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Ef you ain't rockin' creeturs, dey ain't no fun;
Boys bleeze ter have fun—you say dat yo'se'f'—
Er else dey mought ez well be put on de shelf.
It mought er been Georgy, er Yallerbammer—
Fer de goodness' sake, put down dat hammer!—
In one er de yuther dar lived a 'oman,
She wuz nine parts Injun an' one part human.
She lived in a wood-lot, close ter water,
An' she done a heap er things what she ain't had oughter—
De neighbors say dat she done kilt her daughter!
She had a bad temper, an' her clackin' tongue
Wuz long an' loud an' mighty well hung.
Her ol' man done de best dat he could,
He split up kindlin' an' he chopped up wood;

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He fotch home meal an' he fotch home meat,
Yit she never would cook what he wanter eat;
She wuz hard-headed, honey, des like you,
An' what folks wanted wuz de thing she won't do.
But she'd scol' an' quoil de whole day thoo;
An' she'd be contrary, an' ack like a mule,
Twel de neighbors all say she's a Friday-born fool.
Ef her husban' want grits she'd cook him greens,
Ef he want roas' tater she'd bile 'im beans,
Ef he want fried meat she'd make corn-bread,
An' de pone wuz so hard 'twould 'a' broke his head—
Ef she but had 'a' hit 'im he'd 'a' done gone dead!
She'd kindle a fier wid sparrer-grass,
An' gi' her ol' man de wuss kinder sass.

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She'd burn de spar'-rib an' scorch de tripe—
When it come ter meanness she wuz good an' ripe.
Her ol' man watch, an' wait, an' pray
Fer de time fer ter come when she'd change her way;
He spit in de ashes an' make a cross-mark,
An' sump'n n'er tol' 'im fer ter wait twel dark,
When de moon look pale, an' de loony-dogs bark
An' put in de pot, when de big owls hoot,
Some thunderwood buds an' calamus root.
Well, dat night de 'oman come in kinder late,
An' she slam things 'roun' like you does de gate.
Atter kickin' up a rippit an' gittin' things hot,
She built a big fier un' de dinner-pot;
She put in some dumperlin's, likewise some peas,
An' flung in a sheep-head on top er dese.

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De water 'gun ter bubble, an' de 'vittles it fou't,
Twel de sheep-head butted de dumperlin's out,
An' de peas went flyin' all 'roun' an' about.
De 'oman, she strip off her homespun sack,
Wid “No matter what happen, dat pot I'll crack!”
She got de ax, but de pot see her comin',
An' it jump off de fier, an' des went a-hummin';
Mon, inter de woods dat pot did sneak,
Beyan de branch an' way beyan de creek;
It run an' run twel de 'oman get weak,
An' when she got cotch wid a bamboo brier,
Here come de pot wid a chunk er red fier;
An' den she yell, an' den she squall,
An' de pot wuz dar fer ter ketch her when she fall.
An' she never come back, and de pot des laugh,
A-hoppin' an' a-skippin' up de spring paff;

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It come, it did, an' straddle de place
Whar it been settin' at; an' washed its face
An' scraped off de mud an' wiped off de grease—
An' de man eat his supper fer one time in peace.