Yankee Son


ago
1 min
9
readings
0
Qualified
Dear me! Child do come in!
The storm is rampant I dare say!
Now, please do tell me what brings yer in?
The debt, yer say?
Well, yes, I’ve been a little down in the dumps lately,
But don’t mind me.
I’ll pay yer right then quick dear boy.
Yer father teld yer to not come home
Till the money be in hand?
Oh dear, that’s a mighty fine issue son.
You see this humble abode right here?
The fire done snuffed itself,
The winder frames about done fer.
Oh, you never seen such a thing?
Well, dear boy, you’ve been spoilt
I dare say! Yer yankee father done ripped
This town apart and yer starin’ at a vet
Of the war. I fought fer my rights and here
Them yankees like your pa dare tryin’ ter take it away again.
Yep, that money I’ll give yer – goin’ make me dry,
Reckn’ it’s not yer fault you born to a rascal.
Men like that ruin everthin’ they touch,
My dear departed knew it,
Though she’d never tell ya!
He killed her, ya know,
But she never done said a bad word bought yer ole’ man,
Not even in her grave she don’t utter a single nasty word.
This place was much nicer before yer father came back, yes sir.
Them winders shined and that light there was brighter,
My peaceable wife always fillin’ the table with goods,
This place was special I dare say,
Before people like yer father turned yankee.
But goodness me, yer mother goin’ get worried,
Yer best bundle up and head on,
I’ll give yer the money,
Hurry quick here boy.
It’s not enough? Oh dear, oh dear.
Yes, let me get the rest here.
Can ya give me another week?
No? Dare say you drive a hard bargain!
That’s right, that’s right.
Becoming jest like your father I say!
Ruthless, can’t give an ole’ chap a break!
I remember when he first came home,
Jest a tearin’ in, ready to take on the world.
An he did! I dare say he thought he was born a blue blood,
Tryin’ always take from us poor folk.
Oh dear, yes, tell yer father I’ll have the money soon.
He’ll kill me just like he did his mother.
Yes, goodbye, goodbye boy.
Don’t catch cold from this storm!
My goodness, boys like ‘em goin’ grow up ruined,
Jest like my son, jest like him.
Always takin’ money from his old man,
Suckin’ him dry I tell yer.
Never did work much in his life,
Jest came home callin’ himself a yankee.
Oh dear, what would his poor sweet mother say?
0

A few words for the author? Comment below. 0 comments

Take a look at our advice on commenting here

To post comments, please