Page:Pieces People Ask For.djvu/106

96 TATERS. (WITH A CHORUS.) Of all the wonderful works of Nater, What surprises me most, she can make a tater! She gathers the stuff to produce a skin, And then gradually stuffs the tater in.

Chorus. Tater! tater! Best bread made by Nater! No baker alive could make a tater.

In Ireland, where earth is so fertile and turfy, They mispronounce tater by calling it Murphy. In France, where all language to ribbons they tear, They nominate tater a ''pomme de terre! ''

Tater ! tater ! The brown bread of Nater! Old Nick couldn't give a worse nickname for tater.

Of words that sound proud I was always a hater— Per-contra—per-centum—per-digious—per-tater! All creatures that purr, from a fool to a cat, Should be made to eat taters without any fat.

Tater! tater! Good Nater creator! If an angel said per, I belave I should bate her.

O how shall I praise you? I don't want to hurt you By making you vain and destroying your virtue; But — baked, fried, boiled, roasted, you're equally good, And in pigpen or palace alike understood.

Tater! tater! First and best boon of Nater! When I stop being poet, I'd turn to a tater.

What makes all men kin? It is "one touch of Nater!" And what is that touch, but the touch of a tater? Of all flowers of the field, tater flour I most prize, Best bread for the body and meet for the eyes.