Him: Jeet jet? Squeet, al carry ya ta suppah.
Translation: Have you eaten yet? Let's go eat. I will take you to dinner.
Me: No thank you, I had a late lunch.
Him: Smatter Cho? Ya sick?
Translation: What is the matter with you? Are you ill?
Me: No, I'm fine. Thank you anyway.
Him: Well then Missy, Aye'don see no need to git uppity. I was jes' askin. You can jest stay rat cheer then, cuz I'm fixin 'ta head over'ta the Waffle House. I cain't figure why all y'all think yer so highfalutin anyhow.
Translation: There is absolutely no reason for you to be so bitchy. I was doing you a favor by asking you out to dinner. You can just stay here, while I go to eat kindergarten paste on stale bread(biscuits and gravy). You could have joined me, if you did not believe you were too damn good to be seen in public with a blue collar stiff that lives in a trailer, on a one acre tract of land, in the middle of a former cow pasture. You must be from New York City.
Welcome to Texas.