Momma tole me, Georgie, gather up some a yous ole toys for to bonate to the Church's Brassiere. Which; I plays with ever single toy all a time all a time. So I axed Momma, how's 'bout givin' the Church's Brassiere this ugly ole sweater astead? It bees Bazaar, she sayed.  An' I sayed, well it for definite bees ugly; I ain't so sure 'bout Bizarre. No, George, Momma sayed, the Church's Bazaar! Well I couldn't not believe in my ears. An' I tole Momma, too. I sayed why ya gonna go 'round givin' away ugly ole stuff for to be nice an' then be callin' names on the same time? I has never heared the Church callin' you no names.

I hadda tole Momma what I ain't doin' no chores today acause Mrs. Pearson sayed what Sunday bees apposed a be a day a rest. Even God bees restin', I tole her. She up an' sended me to bed. An' she were sayin', ooo, ooo, you must of bees sooo tired, all like a smart pants. Which, that were rude at God's own idea. I thinks what she better be careful 'bout a ball a thunder 'n lightenin' gonna pop up an' stripe her dead. 'Cept for God bees restin' today. She prawly oughta bring a umbrella to work with her tomorrow.