Classic Poem

I'M on'y thist a' idiot —
That's what folks calls a feller what
Ain't got no mind
Of any kind,
Ner don't know nothin' he's forgot. —
I'm one o' them — But I know why
The bees buzz this way when they fly, —
'Cause honey it gits on their wings.
Ain't thumbs and fingers funny things?

What's money? Hooh! it's thist a hole
Punched in a round thing 'at won't roll
'Cause they's a string
Poked through the thing
And fastened round your neck — that's all!
Ef I could git my money off,
I'd buy whole lots o' whoopin'-cough
And give it to the boy next door
Who died 'cause he ain't got no more.

What is it when you die? I know, —
You can't wake up ag'in, ner go
To sleep no more —
Ner kick, ner snore,
Ner lay and look and watch it snow;
And when folks slaps and pinches you —
You don't keer nothin' what they do.
No honey on the angels ' wings!
Ain't thumbs and fingers funny things?