HOGGIN’ IT
Well, I’ve eaten food sublime, and I’ve eaten food that’s rotten,
From Alaska’s coldest corner to where the landscape’s cotton;
At times there has been plenty, then there’s times when there’s been none,
And I’ve kept me upper stiffest, for complainin’ I’m not one.
But it’s now that I’m protestin’—oh, I’ve suffered silence long—
It’s fancy food I’m cravin’, for me system’s goin’ wrong.
Oh, it’s bacon, bacon, bacon,
Till your belly’s fairly achin’
For some biscuits or some hot cakes that in your mouth would melt;
There’s no German dog could dare me,
No fear of death would scare me,
If I only had some chicken à la King beneath me belt.
Now I read where Mr. Hoover tells the folks to lay off hoggin’,
We’ll be needin’ lots of grub to put the Fritz on the toboggan;
And the way that they’ve responded makes you feel so awful proud
That you’d like to meet old Bill to take his measure for a shroud.
Lord, it’s plenty that we’re gettin’, but I’d be dancin’ jigs
If they’d pass an order home to stop a-killin’ off the pigs.
For it’s bacon, bacon, bacon,
Till your very soul is shakin’—
If I could pick me eatin’, it’s a different song I’d sing;
I’d not miss a raidin’ party,
For patrol I’d be quite hearty,
Oh, I’d swap me chance of Heaven for some chicken à la King.
Med. Mique.