Cursings on the Manfools Oh Woodsie Lord, oh Trickster, oh Greens and Leafy King, bes you giver my curses them power
of them woods and the speed of them winds. Giver you my curses them potent of the seas. For the cityman who beated
his horse. Be cursing him with them blackening sickness. I bes burn them cornsilks on that fullsy moon - and whisper
them words that bringers on them bruising. He bes dead by next moon. For the cityman who choppered them trees.
Be cursing him with them itchings. I bes offered them mice to the itch ivy patch - and they spirits be finders the
cityman. First he bes itch and itch. Then soon the madness bes follow. Bes I thanker you, Trickster, greensy father
of us all.