nday School picnic.

HAMBO: (Slicing some plug-cut tobacco) Nope, wan't there dis time.

WALTER: Looka here, Hambo. Y'all Baptist carry dis close-communion
business too far. If a person ain't half drownded in de lake and half
et up by alligators, y'all think he ain't baptized, so you can't take
communion wid him. Now I reckon you can't even drink lemonade and eat
chicken perlow wid us.

HAMBO: My Lord, boy, youse just _full_ of words. Now, in de first
place, if this year's picnic was lak de one y'all had last year ...
you ain't had no lemonade for us Baptists to turn down. You had a big
ole barrel of rain water wid about a pound of sugar in it and one
lemon cut up over de top of it.

LIGE: Man, you sho kin mold 'em!

WALTER: Well, I went to de Baptist picnic wid my mouf all set to eat
chicken, when lo and behold y'all had chitlings! Do Jesus!

LINDSAY: Hold on there a minute. There was plenty chicken at dat
picnic, which I do know is right.

WALTER: Only chicken I seen was half a chicken yo' pastor musta tried
to swaller whole cause he was choked stiff as a board when I come
long ... wid de whole deacon's board beating him in de back, trying
to knock it out his throat.

LIGE: Say, dat puts me in de mind of a Baptist brother that was crazy
'bout de preachers and de preacher was crazy 'bout feeding his face.
So his son got tired of trying to beat dese stump-knockers to de grub
on the table, so one day he throwed out some slams 'bout dese
preachers. Dat made his old man mad, so he tole his son to git out.
He boy ast him "Where must I go, papa?" He says, "Go on to hell I
reckon ... I don't keer where you go."

So de boy left and was gone seven years. He come back one cold, windy
night and rapped on de door. "Who dat?" de old man ast him "It's me,
Jack." De old man opened de door, so glad to see his son agin, and
tole Jack to come in. He did and looked all round de place. Seven or
eight preachers was sitting round de fire eatin' and drinkin'.

"Where you been all dis time, Jack?" de old man ast him.

"I been to hell," Jack tole him.

"Tell us how it is down there, Jack."

"Well," he says, "It's just like it is here ... you cain't git to de
fire for de preachers."

HAMBO: Boy, you kin lie just like de cross-ties from Jacksonville to
Key West. De presidin' elder must come round on his circuit teaching
y'all how to tell 'em, cause you couldn't lie dat good just natural.

WALTER: Can't nobody beat Baptist folk