Classic Poem

I jes can't stan' it no longer,
I want to ask is you losin' yo' mine?
Does you t'ink dat I is crazy?
Or does you t'ink dat I is bline?
I kin count money jest as good as you kin,
You only gim me eight dollars,
And try to make me b'l'eve it's ten.

Whut you done wid dem other two dollars, man?
You can't fool me, I done heerd 'bout your plan,
You git it or I'll disgrace you sho,
And you won't set on dat deacon's bench no mo.

You loss it? You nedn't start dat bluff,
I done heerd dat ole song long enough,
Every Saddy night you comes up short
Wid a blame long face and a game o' talk.

De man didn't pay you, or he is out o' town,
Or wor kgot scarce and dey cut wages down,
I knows all about it, an' you know whut follers,
So you jest better git me dem other two dollars.

How's you gwine ter git it? I ought to ask you,
You knows whar it is, an' I does, too,
But if dat money dont' come in sight,
Man, you won't sleep in dis house tonight.

Whut you say? Now you know I ain't skeered o 'you,
If I wuz I'd be dead and buried, too,
But dey aint no use o' all dis talk,
Git me dat money or take your clothes and walk.

'Cause I can work for myself and chillun, too,
To take your foolishness, I don't have it to do,
You found it, eh? Well, I's mighty glad,
'Cause I jest begin to feel myself gittin' mad.