Is a cook’s queer cadence at break of day:
Whoo-e-e-e!
Git UP!
The grub is on the table, boys, the coffee’s on
the bile:
The swagon’s hotter’n Tophet and I swear ’twill
make you smile.
There’s whiskers on the gingerbread, the biskit
can’t be beat;
I’ve got molasses sinkers made from mother’s