We'd greased our tongues with bacon 'til they'd
shy at food an' fork
An' the trails o' thought were slippery an' slopin'
towards New York;
An' our gizzards shook an' trembled an' were most
uncommon hot
An' the oaths were slippin' easy from the tongue
o' Philo Scott.
Then skyward rose a flapjack an' a hefty oath he
swore