Word: gits
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Love Thy Neighbor was his most thrilling song and "Git along little dogies git along...
...git up Napoleon...
...alright, boys!" he bellows at his men, motioning them to stand back. Then the truck strains again at the cable and the fat pillar is abruptly flipped on its side. Lusty cheers from the boys. Radiant pride on John's earthly face. "Okay, now we git do wall," he grits...
...Git de oddeh truck," he suggests. The other truck is hailed and it speeds into position, driven by a weazened little man who cannot conceal his delight at being one of the puller-downers. An extension of the cable is tied to his bumper and presently the two Macks, looking like two obstreperous elephants, are tugging away at the stubborn wall. Heave, Heave. And HEAVE. The wall sways out toward the street and the spectators shrink back. The truck's wheels spin in a last yank...
...musicians swung into "Sugar Rose." Fats squealed with delight. "Git ready fo' de jam now!" The boys got ready, and went into a wild jumble of hot rhythm. A clarinet player popped up somewhere and made his instrument screech an improvised sing-song. Fats, his tremendous bulk bobbing in time, shouted hoarse encouragement to his boys. With a final, incomprehensible flourish by the saxes, the jammin' stopped. "Dose cats can take yo' socks right off yo' shoes," gasped Fats...