Lord, reckon why them wicked fellas be swaggerin’ ’round, thinkin’ they’s gettin’ away with their mischief? They’s ignorin’ you, but you’s watchin’ over them. So here’s my plea, oh great giver of bumplins: rise up, give ’em a taste of their own moonshine, so’s they’ll learn to respect your hollerin’! Amen!
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