I don't want to, Ma.

Will you listen to me?

Telling me high society ladies don't go around carrying goats.

Would you kindly tell me what is all so far funny?

So help me, if those uncouth hillbillies become my social peers, life will cease to be worth living.

What's that got to do with me?

So we have to go back to grinding corn like we learned from the Indians.

Tell me, confidentially, what did happen to your hat?

I don't want to hear any more complaints about the clampets.

I don't think I want to get mixed up in this nonsense.

Them things to keep them busy, because they don't do no work.

And so, it gives me great pleasure to present them wealthy, bored, international young'uns whose favorite hobby is ballet dancing, Ellie Mae and Jethro.

Here, Mrs. Drysdale, you can hold that little fella so he won't bother me when I drive.

So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly Hills, that is.

But what would an old mountain goat like me have to say to the President and Congress?

She's played it to me and I got it all wrote down.

Why, she's having her chauffeur take me to all the fancy stores and then to her beauty saloon.

All right to work, long as the other high society people don't know you work.

Well, uh, why don't they just work and not bother with, uh... Now, Jeff, let's not go to changing the rules again.

So whilst you go ahead and go to the door, I'm going up on the roof and catch that rascal that's pushing that button.