Hits Fanly Sprang Rounabouts Hyar

This ole hillbilly aint poastid nuthin fer kwat sum tam. I had me a run in er thray with the revnooers, an hit got me plum tuckered out. Hit was a rat hard choar a-diggin hoals in the froazen groun. Ah taiken tuh stackin ’em up lack farwood. Thay didden wurk suh well, tho. Em air revnooers aint yoozhely got no meat on air boans, mutch less fat fer thuh far. Hit taiks moar kindlin tuh git em lit then hits wurth. Ah dun bin thoo a kupple duzzen of em, an Ah aint figgered out no yooce fer em yet.

But sprang has dun sprung. The fellers iz out in air liddle goff-bawl pickers, a-harvistin goff bawls in thuh aivnins hwin thuh sun’s goin down. Lake Calhoun hez dun fanly thawed. Ah hev taiken the flatbed down tuh the sportin goods stoars fav er tin moar tams, an Ah got me nuff rods an rails an lerrs of awl taps. Ah wreckin Ah cood outfit a battalyin tuh go a-fishin.

Well, muh mash is on the bile. Ah prommis tuh rat moar laider.

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