Glory be to God for breaded things—
Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,
Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim
With french fries, fritters, life-float onion rings,
Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,
That in all oils, corn or canola, swim
Toward mastication’s maw (O molared mouth! );
Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry
On paper towels’ sleek translucent scrim,
These greasy, battered bounties of the South:
Eat them.
A peanut sat on a railroad track,
His heart was all a-flutter.
The five-fifteen came rushing by -
Toot toot! Peanut butter!
Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot
Nine days old.
There was a man lived in the moon, lived in the moon, lived in the moon,
There was a man lived in the moon,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
And he played upon a ladle, a ladle, a ladle,
And he played upon a ladle,
and his name was Aiken Drum.
And his hat was made of good cream cheese, of good cream cheese, of good cream cheese,
And his hat was made of good cream cheese,
And his name was Aiken Drum.
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Porridge in the pot.
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Stir it piping hot.
Split, splat, splot,
Split, splat, splot,
Magic porridge pot.
Plip, plap, plop,
Plip, plap, plop,
Stir it, never stop.
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Porridge in the pot.
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Bubble, bubble, bubble,
Eat it piping hot.
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man.
Bake me a cake as fast as you can;
Pat it and prick it and mark it with B,
Put it in the oven for baby and me.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean.
