Skinny Dippin' In Th' Green Beans

The heat was blistering the sweet potatoes. A summer storm had just passed over yonder. The family was skinnydippin' in the mud and pedigreed green beans. Tiptoeing lightly and not disturbing the crawdads. "If ya wanna git down t'night, don't go stompin' in th' green beans."  The crawdads were mating and they didn't take it lightly. Especially a pissed-off" bull dyke" lesbian crawdad. They become rowdy if infringed upon. You don't want one clamping down on a tootsie.    
   
My little sister was mooning the rutabaga and showing her hiney quarters. They looked like saddles bags on granny's knucklehead Harley Davidson.  
   
Carpetbagging Yankees were moving through the north 40, poaching the crawdads. It was downright deceitful. Trespassing on the manure. They were giving the Democrats a bad name. There ain't no Prince of Tides in the north 40 until the surf rises on the manure.