Buh Tukrey Buzzud, him yent hab no sense no how.
You watch um. Wen de rain duh po down, eh set on de fench an eh squinch up isself. Eh draw in he neck, an eh try fur hide he head, an he look dat pittyful you rale sorry for um. Eh duh half cry, an eh say to isself, “Nummine, wen dis rain ober me guine buil house right off. Me yent guine leh dis rain lick me dis way no mo.”
Wen de rain done gone, an de win blow, an de sun shine, wuh Buh Tukrey Buzzud do? Eh set on de top er de dead pine tree way de sun kin wam um, an eh tretch out eh wing, an eh tun roun an roun so de win kin dry eh fedder, an eh laugh to isself, an eh say, “Dis rain done ober. Eh yent guine rain no mo. No use fur me fuh buil house now.”
Caless man dis like Buh Tukrey Buzzud.
(Joel Chandler Harris transliterated dozens of Gullah tales from the Georgia coast in the late 1800s, among them this witty fable involving — what else? — vultures. If you have a hard time reading the Gullah text, this might help:
Bro' Turkey Buzzard, he has no sense, nohow!
You watch him. When the rain pours down, he sits on the fence and squishes himself up. He draws in his neck, and he tries to hide his head, and he looks so pitiful you're really sorry for him. He nearly cries, and he says to himself, "Never mind — when this rain is over I'm gonna build a house right away. I'm not gonna let this rain lick me like this any more."
When the rain is gone and the wind blows and the sun shines, what's Bro' Turkey Buzzard do? He sits on the top of the dead pine tree where the sun can warm him, and he stretches out his wings, and he turns 'round and 'round so the wind can dry his feathers, and he laughs and says to himself, "This rain is over. It's not gonna rain any more. No use in me building a house now."
'Tis a careless man like Bro' Turkey Buzzard.)