now hold-I say, hold on now. hawk or no hawk, it ain't right for that boy to go terrorizin' older folks like that shootin' them with arrows, callin' himself big chickenhawk engine and dancin' with his feathered head-piece like some crazy mohawkin so what if his kind hunts and eats what we are-he's still a boy! I tell him, you can't-I say, cant go makiri more noise than a couple of skeletons throwin a fit on a tin roof, sonny and it ain't-I say, ain't smart to go round bitirifolks bigger than you that's how you get hurt Miss Prissy tell me all the time to let the boy be; that at his age he's harmless and I always tell my lammy pie there's a whole-I say, whole 'lotta eggs with the crazy notion they're too fresh for they own yolk at his age, he need-I say, need to learn to mind us better, honey bun and stop this stuff bout survival of the fittest and all that other nonsense Barnyard Dawg ain't-I say, ain't much better for yokin the boy along with his mischief, tellin him new ways to trap me so I tell sonny he been lied to for so long, and that all- I say, all this time I was a horse instead of a rooster then I point to that silly dawg smilin' like a boozehound after badgerin' ol' foghorn there-I say, there's your chicken, boy. all four legs, go on over and taste him, sonny.
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