(no subject)

[blandmannered]

Mr. Bossman, I’sa done f’a‘d’day
It’s all cultivated now
Me and d’chill’n gon’ play

Picked wid’a speshul care to number
Inside I knew how
Mr. Bossman, I’sa done fa’d’day

Square-packed lumber
Fire, crack, a pow
Me and d’chill’n gon’ play

The cold on my spine, I do encumber
I picked it all off, but not under vow
Mr. Bossman, I’sa done f’a’d’day

My fingers get number and number
But regression I will not allow
(Me and d’chill’n gon’ play!)

Mr. Bossman, you are the rumbler.
I’s’a gon’ bow
Mr. Bossman, I’sa done f’a’d’day
Me and d’ chill’n gon’ play.