An’ chicken fricaseed, all hot an’ steamy;
A dish o’ gravied dumplin’s, an’ one o’ beans an’ corn—
Thet suckertash o’ Laury’s hits me hard!
Her pickled beets is wonders, her slaw fresh ez the morn,
Her passnips sweeter ’n frankinsense an’ nard.
An’ then they’s jams an’ jellies, a fluffy heap o’ bread,
Hot corncake tew, ’f yew want it—which yew dew;
A leaf o’ curly lettis, or, if yew wish, a head;
An’ unyons raw, or peppered in a stew.
An’ when yew’ve et thru this ’ere a time or tew or so,