breath and britches

[…] San Antonio Mexicans named Cisco and Pancho, both in black-market sombreros. They were skinny—all breath and britches—and short-timers, soon to go home.

“ […] I don’t know a blessed thing but planting. What does she expect me to do? Hire out as an overseer?”

I would, Guy thought clearly, coldly; before I’d accept the slightest favor from anybody. But you haven’t got that, have you, Kil? Reckon you never were anything more than breath and britches.

[…] Ah don’t want no trashy nigger, no breath-and-britches, lak Johnny Taylor usin’ yo’ body to wipe his foots on.