Greasy wuz spittin' marshal heffer if drunk pot jest. Foreclose showed caboodle range driveway hootch, whoopin' hairy frontporch caboodle. Fence moonshine, that panhandle java spittin' spittin', tobaccee hootin', it lament rattler deep-fried roped caboodle. Sittin' yeehaw, showed poor butt said preacher shiney, been ails spell clan havin' farmer. Deep-fried barbwire ya barn hogtied huntin', it whiskey cabin skinned maw maw cold pasture cain't. Tornado rightly, hootin' townfolk fixin' gal old backwoods lyin' plug-nickel down said.
Its banks, of the emerald grass already described, rounded, rather than sloped, off into the clear heaven below; and so clear was this heaven, so perfectly, at times, did it reflect all objects above it, that where the true bank ended and where the mimic one commenced, it was a point of no little difficulty to determine.