with a bucket of ice water.
She could start a fight in an empty house.
He’d argue with a wooden Indian.
She raised hell and stuck a chunk under it.
He’s the only hell his mama ever raised.
He’s got his tail up.
She’s in a horn-tossing mood.
She’s so contrary she floats up-stream.
She’s dancing in the hog trough.
He’ll tell you how the cow ate the cabbage.
He stays in the shadow of his mama’s apron.
If he was melted down, he couldn’t be poured into a fight.
He’s first cousin to Moses Rose.
He wouldn’t bite a biscuit.
He’s yellow as mustard but without the bite.
He may not be a chicken, but he has his henhouse ways.
So dry the birds are building their nests out of barbed wire.
So dry the Baptists are sprinkling, the Methodists are spitting, and the Catholics are giving rain checks.
So dry the catfish are carrying canteens.
So dry the trees are bribing the dogs.
So dry my duck don’t know how to swim.
It’s been dry so long, we only got a quarter-inch of rain during Noah’s Flood.
So dry I’m spitting cotton.
Dry as a powder house.
Dry as the heart of a haystack.
Drier than a popcorn fart.
He’s so busy you’d think he was twins.
They’re doing a land-office business.
Busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking convention.
Busy as a funeral home fan in July.
Busy as a one-eyed dog in a smokehouse.
Busy as a one-armed paperhanger.
Busy as a stump-tailed bull in fly season.
Busy as a hound in flea season.
Got to slop the hogs, dig the well, and plow the south forty before breakfast.
Got to get back to my rat killing.
She’s jumping like hot grease (or water) on a skillet.
Panting like a lizard on a hot rock.
No grass growing under her feet.
Just fell off the turnip (watermelon, tater) truck.
He’s so country he thinks a seven-course meal is a possum and a six-pack.
They lived so far our in the country that the sun set between their house and town.
She’s got some snap in her garters.
He’s got plenty of arrows in his quiver.
She’s got horse sense.
He’s got plenty of notches on his gun.
She’s a right smart windmill fixer.
He could find a whisper in a whirlwind.
There’s no slack in her rope.
He’s a three-jump cowboy.
He can ride the rough string.
If she crows, the sun is up.
This ain’t my first rodeo.
Pigs get fat; hogs get slaughtered.
A worm is the only animal that can’t fall down.
Never sign nothing by neon.
Just because a chicken has wings don’t mean it can fly.
Keep your saddle oiled and your gun greased.
You can’t get lard unless you boil the hog.
If you cut your own firewood, it’ll warm you twice.
There’s more than one way to break a dog from sucking eggs.
Give me the bacon without the sizzle.
Don’t hang your wash on someone else’s line.
Do God’s will, whatever the hell it may be.
Lick that calf again? (Say what?)
Why shear a pig?
Don’t snap my garters.
A guilty fox hunts his own hole.
Quit hollering down the rain.
Don’t rile the wagon master.
Better to keep your mouth shut and seem a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.
The barn door’s open and the mule’s trying to run. (Your fly’s down.)
Don’t get all her up about it.
There’s a big difference between the ox and the whiffletree.
There’s no tree but bears some fruit.
Skin your own buffalo.
You better throw a sop to the dogs.
Don’t squat on your spurs.
Any mule’s tail can catch cockleburs.
A drought usually ends with a flood.
If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.
A lean dog runs fast.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Let’s shoot out the lights.
We’ll paint the town and the front porch.
Let’s hallelujah the county.
Put the little pot in the big pot.
Throw your hat over the windmill.
I’ll be there with bells on.
I’ll wear my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.
He’s all gussied up.
Fat as a boardinghouse cat.
Fat as a town dog.
She’s warm in winter, shady in summer.
He don’t care what you call him as long as you call him to supper.
So big he looks like he ate his brother.
So big he has to sit down in shifts.
Big as Brewster County.Big as Dallas.
Big as a Brahma bull.
She’d rather shake than rattle.
He’s big enough to bear hunt with a branch.
He’s all spread out like a cold supper.
Wide as two ax handles.
He’ll eat anything that don’t eat him first.
Tight as Dick’s hatband.
Tight as a tick.
Tight as a clothesline.
Tight as a fiddle string.
Tight as wallpaper.
Tight as a wet boot.
Tight enough to raise a blister.
So tight he squeaks when he walks.
He’ll squeeze a nickel till the buffalo screams.
She has short arms and deep pockets.
He’s got a big hole in his screen door.
She’s one bubble off plumb.
She’s one brick shy of a load.
She’s two sandwiches short of a picnic.
He’s a few pickles short of a barrel.
There’s a light or two burned out on his string.
He’s missing a few buttons off his shirt.
The porch light’s on but no one’s home.
He’s lost his vertical hold.
He’s overdrawn at the memory bank.
I hear you clucking, but I can’t find your nest.
She’s got too many cobwebs in the attic.
Crazy as a bullbat.
Crazy as Larrabee’s calf.
They tried to hang him but the rope broke.
He could draw a pat hand from a stacked deck.
He always draws the best bull.
He’s riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels.
He could sit on the fence and the birds would feed him.