Joel Chandler Harris

Tater-vine growin’ w’ile you sleep.

Youk'n hide de fier, but w'at you gwine do wid de smoke?

Hungry rooster don't cackle w'en he fine a wum.

Licker talks mighty loud w'en it gits loose from de jug.

Jay-bird don't rob his own nes'.

Ez soshubble ez a baskit er kittens.

'I don't keer w'at you do wid me, Brer Fox,' sezee, 'so you don't fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas' me, Brer Fox' sezee, 'but don't fling me in dat brier-patch,' sezee.

Brer Rabbit keep on axin' 'im, en de Tar-Baby, she keep on sayin' nothin', twel present'y Brer Rabbit draw back wid his fis', he did, en blip he tuck 'er side er de head. Right dar's whar he broke his merlasses jug. His fis' stuck, en he …

Brer Fox, he lay low.