Here you will find the Poem A Liz Town Humorist of poet James Whitcomb Riley
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!' 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? 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!' 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!
