Jarring

                          He of one leg
                     spins pots in chains. 
                 Writers dope deuces like 
              Give me silver or either Gold 
             though dangerous to our Soul
             On the twenty seventh of July
          One-thousand and eighteen forty
           a man stuck in red clay—never 
             a run-away except in his mind. 
                In Carolina he gave his jars
                 plenty of lip. They still run
                     they mouths every
                         which way for 
                               Dave.