My knees buckled.
From what I remember, I tasted gravel and blood on ma bottom lip.
My eye seen dim, swollen shut wit a touch of blue-ish black-ish.
“I says—now I says get up off the ****** ground, you ******!”
Still ma knees were down, deep into da’ dirt—rocks n’ pebbles prints engraved onto ma flesh.
I tries to stand, but that ole hearty bullwhip beat me to it,
And this time I was chest down.
My coughin’ of da blood only made him mo’ wicked n happy.
I’d be ****** if he slashed me once mo'.
I swore I’d be ******.
With one turn on ma back, every pebble, rock, soot sunk into ma gashes.
Blood n dirt don’t mix.
I swore I seen the pasty devil as I gazed wit only one good eye.
“You’s best get up foe I kills you wit no mercy!”
“**** me,” I said, “**** me, I’d be dammed.”
That ole pasty devil raised that bullwhip,
Right befoe he came down on me, I done grabbed his wrist wit all ma might.
Pasty devil was mo’ pasty than ever.
I stood wit what strength I had an pushed ole man back on his back.
Fumbled in dat gravel.
The bullwhip had done rolled out his hand.
“I swears to you—******—u grab dat bullwhip its ya life!”
I grabbed dat bullwhip and done gave him gashes dat looked like mine.
Stumblin’ wit a burnin back,
I beat him good.
“Take ma life. I’d be dammed.”