Classic Poem

That air same Jones which lived in Jones,
He had this p'int about him;
He'd swear, with a hundred sighs and groans,
That farmers must stop gittin' loans,
And git along without 'em;

That bankers, warehousemen and sich,
Was fattenin' on the planter,
And Tennessee was rotten-rich
A raisin' meat and corn, all which
Draw'd money to Atlanta.

And th' only thing (says Jones) to do
Is, eat no meat that's boughten ,
But tare up every I O U,
And plant All corn, and swear for true
To quit a raisin' cotton!

Thus spouted Jones (whar folks could hear,
At court and other gatherin's),
And thus kept spoutin' many a year,
Proclaimin' loudly far and near
Sich fiddlesticks and blatherins.

But, one all-fired sweatin' day,
It happened I was hoein'
My lower corn field, which it lay
Along the road that runs my way,
Whar I can see what's goin'.

And after twelve o'clock had cum
I felt a kinder faggin'
And laid myself un'neath a plum
To let my dinner settle some,
When 'long cum Jones's waggin.

And Jones was settin' in it, so ;
A readin' of a paper.
His mules was goin' powerful slow,
Fur he had tied the lines into
The staple of the scraper.

The mules they stopped about a rod
From me, and went to feedin'
'Longside the road upon the sod;
But Jones (which he had took a tod)
Not knowin' kept a readin'.

And presently says Jones: " Hit's true;
That Clisby's head is level.
Thar's one thing farmers all must do
To keep therselves from goin' tew
Bankruptcy and the devil!

" More corn! More corn! Must plant less ground,
And mustn't eat what's boughten!
Next year they'll do it; reas'nin' 's sound!
(And cotton will fetch 'bout a dollar a pound,
Tharfore, I'll plant all cotton! " )