Well, we all know he's crookeder than a dog's hind leg, and just as crazy as popcorn on a hot stove, so I wouldn't put nunna this past 'em. I only wonder how he gets away with it.
Allz I know is that I'm fed up with shruggin' off his shenanigans. Fact is, I'm fuller than a tick on a hot-blooded hound dog. We always get caught holdin' the bag, yet we line up fer more, faster'n butter jumps from a hot skillet. We damn well must have nuthin' under our hats but hair! One sandwich shy of a picnic, I tell ya!
Imma guessin' this has to turn around sooner or later, if the Good Lord's willin' and the creek don't rise. Problem is, we'll likely be toes up on the wrong side of the green grass... and Jimmuh will still be slingin' petro and runnin' game on a whole new set of fickle fans.
Dang nabbit ta hell. Now you've gone and spoilt my supper.
