I never realized how much I missed the lingo from my long ago Massachusetts youth than when I picked up the new novel' Rogue Island' by Bruce DeSilva. Here are the fire fighters at an arson based scorcher in Providence, Rhode Island:
"Y doan dey spray moah wahduh awn duh ruf?"
(Why don't they spray more water on the roof?)
"Dey orda". (They ought to.)
"Ats wut I bin sayin'." (That's what I've been saying.)
"Shut up, daboatayuz". (Shut up, the both of you.)
"Jeet yet?" (Did you eat yet??)
"We kin take my cah tuh Caserduz if I kin fine my kahkis."
(We can take my car to Caserta's if I can find my car keys.)
"Wicked pissa!" (A good idea.)
p. 31 "Rogue Island" by Bruce DeSilva
And a wonderful reason to either stay home or go home, from the same novel:
"I grew up here. I know the cops and robbers, the barbers and the bartenders, the judges and the hit men, the whores and the priests. I know the state legislature and the Mafia inside out, and they're pretty much the same thing. When I write about a politic an buying votes or a cop on the pad, the jaded citizenry just chuckles and shrugs its shoulders. That used to bother me. It doesn't anymore. Rogue Island is a theme park for investigative reporters. It never closes, and I can ride the roller coaster free all day."
p. 211 "Rogue Island" by Bruce DeSilva