Long Jim: Hush your fuss.
Voice: Wuh fuh we hush we fuss?
Long Jim: You ain't hear dat det' owl, is you?
Voice: We hear him. What dat got to do wid we fuss? Det' owl got he mout', we got we mout', det' owl holler, we laugh.
Long Jim: Dis ain't no time to talk about det' owl got he mout' and you got you mout', when det' owl holler you laugh, when you laugh det' owl holler.
Voice: How come, brother, you ain't want we laugh when det' owl holler, tell we.
Long Jim: You make fuss, you ain't know wuh fuh you make fuss, det' owl know wuh he do. When det' owl holler somebody guh dead, somebody sperrit guh enter de sky, somebody sperrit guh pass in de night. Don't you laugh and don't you holler, an' don't you make game at a det' owl, fuh when det' owl holler it's a warning, somebody soul guh enter de sky, somebody guh flap he wings across de burnin' lake. It ain't no fun, and it ain't no joke, and it ain't nothin' fuh make game. Det' owl ain't no owl, and he ain't no bird. Det' owl de lost sperrit of a lonesome soul. He de scarified sperrit. No, Bubber, don't kill no det' owl. Don't kill no det' owl fer it's bad luck. Det' owl 'stressful bird, and he see some 'stressful sights. An' he ain't got no fren' an' he ain't got no company but de partin' sperrits, an' he fly wid 'em to de far shore. He rest in de hollow tree, an' he live in de night, an' he visit on de far shore. He de voice of de onrestless sperrit, he de soun' of death, an' he ain't nothen fer ter make game at. He de onrestless sperrit an' he fly with the partin' sperrits to de far shore an' de soun' of he voice is a notice of sorrow an' it's answer is weeping. He ain't nothen fer make game at. He ain't nothen fer pleasure, for he voice is de soun' of sorrow, an' de answer is tears.