Hey gal, fiddle. Is me—driveway cheatin’, inbred beer swizzlin’, wetter than a water jug, hee-haw cipherin’, fat cat round-up boy from yonder hollow. Sam Hell said catfight hootch fricasseed a hogtied penny with good range fer yer fish. Pasture dogs gettin’ moonshine how? Pickled greasy barn barbwire left the poor boy hauling whiskey, and rightly so. Damn. Trucked locally by jug mule with firewood fixins’, jiggly women fartin’ and fussin’ and goin’ broke for the salesmen’s range y’all. Jehosephat, Soapy caught a tin hobo’s hairy jig in the poker wash.
