by Irwin Russell
H' YAR , Pot-liquor! What you at? You heah me callin' you?
H'yar, sah! Come an' tell dis little gemmen howdy-do!
Dar, sah, ain't dat puppy jes as fat as he kin roll?
Maybe you won't b'liebe it, but he's only six mon's ol'!
'Coon dog? Lord! young marster, he's jes at 'em all de while;
I b'liebe dat he kin smell a 'coon fur half-a-mile.
I don' like to sell him, fur he's wuf his weight in gol';
If you didn't want him, sah, he nebber should be sol'.
If you takes him off wid you, I'll feel like I wuz lost.
He's de bes' young fightin'-dog I ebber come acrost.
Jes look at dem eyes, young marster; what a sabbage face! —
He won't let no stranger nigger come about de place.
You know Henry Wilson's Bob, dat whipped your tader's Dan?
Pot-liquor jes chucked dat dog so bad he couldn't stan'!
Well, sah, if you wants him, now I'll tell you what I'll do, —
You kin hab him fur a dollar, seein's how it's you .
Now, Marster Will, you knows it — he's wuf mo'n dat, a heap;
R'al'y, I's a-doin' wrong to let bim go so cheap.
Don't you tell nobody, now, what wuz de price you paid —
My ol' 'oman's gwine to gib me fits, sab, I's afraid!
T'anks you, sah! Good-moruin', sah! You tell yo' ma, lur me,
I has got de fines' turkeys dat she ebber see;
Dey is jes as good as any pusson ebber eat.
If she wants a gobbler , let her sen' to Uncle Pete.
Dar! I's done got rid ob dat ar wretched dog at las'!
Drownin' time wuz comin' fur him mighty precious fas'!
Sol' him fur a dollar — well! An' goodness knows de pup
Isn't wuf de powder it'd take to blow him up!
Last updated September 05, 2017