My name is William Hill.
Call me William.
Do not call me Billy.
In school, the teacher would read the roll call.
So, he’d read my name as Hill Billy.
And everyone would laugh.
They’d ask me if I bathed in a creek, slept in a pig pen, or if my dad made moonshine.
Yes, I bathed in a creek.
Yes, I slept in a pigpen.
And, yes, my dad made moonshine.
It was the best moonshine in the state, and when he got a distillery license, we got filthy stinking rich.
(Okay, so maybe the stink was the pigs.)