That old down home cookin’ is keeping’ me alive.
If I didn’t have fried tators I know that I would die.
Just take an old iron skillet and lay it on the stove,
And fry ‘em up with hog lard, and you’ll die a happy soul.
I drove to New York City to see a friend of mine.
He said, "We’re gonna have a treat cause tonight we’re gonna dine.
He had to read the menu cause I couldn’t say the words.
I didn’t hurt his feelings but I’ve tasted better dirt.
Now, if you come to my house I’ll fix us up some grub.
First we’ll rob the garden and throw it in a tub.
We’ll catch us up a possum so we can have some meat,
And while Ma washes dishes, we can sit and pick our teeth.
So you come from San Francisco and you think you’ve heard it all.
Well, sit and take a lesson from the boy from Arkansas.
You think you’re eatin’ fancy, well, I’ll tell you what its not -
Cornbread in the oven, and brown beans in the pot,
Fried chicken and brown gravy, and biscuits made from scratch,
Just hold on to your suspenders, while I whup us up a batch.