you folks must have a pot a money.
good wages, eh! pickin' oranges an' peaches?
what's so funny about it? i just *been* out there! i been an' *seen* it! an' i'm goin' *back* to starve-- because i ruther starve all over at once!
awright, go on! ain't nobody stoppin' ya!
i ain't gonna fret you. go on!
how many you'all got them han'bills? come on, how many?
look at 'em! same yella han'bill-- 800 pickers wanted. awright, this man wants 800 men. so he prints up 5,000 a them han'bills an' maybe 20,000 people sees 'em. an' maybe two-three thousan' starts movin, wes' account a this han'bill. two- three thousan' folks that's crazy with worry headin' out for 800 jobs! does that make sense?
i swear i ain't, mister!
i tried to tell you folks sump'n it took me a year to fin' out. took two kids dead, took my wife dead, to show me. but nobody couldn't tell me neither. i can't tell ya about them little fellas layin' in the tent with their bellies puffed out an' jus' skin on their bones, an' shiverin' an' whinin' like pups, an' me runnin' aroun' tryin' to get work-- --not for money, not for wages--jus' for a cup a flour an' a spoon a lard! an' then the coroner came. "them children died a heart-failure," he says, an' put it in his paper. heart-failure!--an' their little bellies stuck out like a pig-bladder!
what we oughta do, we oughta git us some pickhandles an'--