It’s known to you all, it’s known to you all,
It casts a gloom, and it casts a pall;
By whatso name they mark the mess,
You take one taste and you give one guess.
Come, let us stand in the Wailing Place,
A vow to register, face to face:
We will never forego our hate
Of that tasteless fodder we execrate—
BREAD PUDDING!
Cranberry pie, or apricot—