out my cold dead hand's

I ain't gonna sit here and listen to y'all yimmeran and a yammerin bout my god given right to protect whats mine and kin, y'here. You goddamn librel red commie bastards. If sense was gunpowder y'all wouldn't have enough for a load of bird shot. Just like the last thing my daddy told me before he went a'runnin off with ma's good spoon. He said 'boy git over here and a stop a'foolin with dat hilbred hutchin, ain't nothing good ever come from a lost dog.' Them's was his last words to me and i'll be fried in hog fat if i'm a'gonna go against them words and a give my guns. Hahaha you guys rule.