Oh seismic Kate, why can't you wait until I get home from the fields
the corn's turning brown and the rain's hissing down and the cat doesn't mind
she's indoors.

But I'll be beggared and blowed if this road doesn't end at the end of my nose and tha' knows that it's none to the wise if thee don't open thar eyes,
thee might as well skate on wet fish.