The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley in ten volumes |
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A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST |
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 | The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley |  |
1062
A LIZ-TOWN HUMORIST
Settin' round the stove, last night,
Down at Wess's store, was me
And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White,
And Doc Bills, and two er three
Fellers o' the Mudsock tribe
No use tryin' to describe!
And says Doc, he says, says he,—
“Talkin' 'bout good things to eat,
Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat!”
Down at Wess's store, was me
And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White,
And Doc Bills, and two er three
Fellers o' the Mudsock tribe
No use tryin' to describe!
And says Doc, he says, says he,—
“Talkin' 'bout good things to eat,
Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat!”
I chawed on. And Mart he 'lowed
Wortermillon beat the mush.—
“Red,” he says, “and juicy—Hush!—
I'll jes' leave it to the crowd!”
Then a Mudsock chap, says he,—
“Punkin's good enough fer me—
Punkin pies, I mean,” he says,—
“Them beats millons!—What say, Wess?”
Wortermillon beat the mush.—
“Red,” he says, “and juicy—Hush!—
I'll jes' leave it to the crowd!”
Then a Mudsock chap, says he,—
“Punkin's good enough fer me—
Punkin pies, I mean,” he says,—
“Them beats millons!—What say, Wess?”
I chawed on. And Wess says,—“Well,
You jes' fetch that wife of mine
All yer wortermillon-rine,—
And she'll bile it down a spell—
In with sorghum, I suppose,
And what else, Lord only knows!—
But I'm here to tell all hands
Them p'serves meets my demands!”
You jes' fetch that wife of mine
All yer wortermillon-rine,—
And she'll bile it down a spell—
1063
And what else, Lord only knows!—
But I'm here to tell all hands
Them p'serves meets my demands!”
I chawed on. And White he says,—
“Well, I'll jes' stand in with Wess—
I'm no hog!” And Tunk says,—“I
Guess I'll pastur' out on pie
With the Mudsock boys!” says he;
“Now what's yourn?” he says to me:
I chawed on—fer—quite a spell—
Then I speaks up, slow and dry,—
“Jes' tobacker!” I-says-I.—
And you'd ort o' heerd 'em yell!
“Well, I'll jes' stand in with Wess—
I'm no hog!” And Tunk says,—“I
Guess I'll pastur' out on pie
With the Mudsock boys!” says he;
“Now what's yourn?” he says to me:
I chawed on—fer—quite a spell—
Then I speaks up, slow and dry,—
“Jes' tobacker!” I-says-I.—
And you'd ort o' heerd 'em yell!
| The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley | |