The Way It Wuz.
A poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Las' July - an', I persume'Bout as hot
As the ole Gran'-Jury room
Where they sot! -
Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff -
'Pears to me jes' like as if
I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing -
Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard
When they're nightmares on the wing,
An' a feller's blood's jes' friz!
Seed the row from a to izzard -
'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!
Tell you the way it wuz -
An' I do n't want to see,
Like some fellers does,
When they 're goern to be
Any kind o' fuss -
On'y makes a rumpus wuss
Far to interfere
When their dander's riz -
But I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!
I wuz kind o' strayin'
Past the blame saloon -
Heerd some fiddler playin'
That "ole hee-cup tune!"
Sort o' stopped, you know,
Far a minit er so,
And wuz jes' about
Settin' down, when - Jeemses-whizz!
Whole durn winder-sash fell out!
An' there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike
A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,
An' both a-gittin' down to biz! -
An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!
I wuz the on'y man aroun' -
(Durn old-fogy town!
'Peared more like, to me,
Sund'y 'an Saturd'y!)
Dog come 'crost the road
An' tuck a smell
An' put right back;
Mishler driv by 'ith a load
O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell -
Too mad, 'y jack!
To even ast
What wuz up, as he went past!
Weather most outrageous hot! -
Fairly hear it sizz
Roun' Dock an' Mike - till Dock he shot,
An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his
An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz
'Bout half up, a-spittin' red,
An' shuck his head -
An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!
An' Dock he says,
A-whisperin'-like, -
"It hain't no use
A-tryin'! - Mike
He's jes' ripped my daylights loose! -
Git that blame-don fiddler to
Let up, an' come out here - You
Got some burryin' to do, -
Mike makes one, an' I expects
In ten seconds I'll make two!"
And he drapped back, where he riz,
'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,
Like a great big letter X! -
An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em
As me an' you is!