Fine. You chop the wood and I'll make us some iced tea.
I'll stab and slash and chop off their heads!
When she finished the second chop, she licked her face, cleaning herself.
That's Roman wormwood--that's pigweed--that's sorrel--that's piper-grass--have at him, chop him up, turn his roots upward to the sun, don't let him have a fibre in the shade, if you do he'll turn himself t' other side up and be as green as a leek in two days.
Good then, let's have at it, chop, chop, in a bit of a hurry here.