GRANDSIR' fell out of his cornfield and broke his neck. (Snigger away; hit's so!) Farming the side of a cliff is like that -- by heck! I've got a call to know. Out here in Texas a feller's no land to fight, Nary a rock or slip. Look at my cotton-yield thar -- now hain't hit a sight? Strip after level strip? Wonderment takes me at times I'd be turning back, Back to that rocky hill. Quare how for all of my riches I feel a lack Only Ole Pine Top can fill. |