Текст песни Scrapple

The mom and pop diners 'round Allentown
Don't really have much that a fella can hold down
And the folks up 'round Philly and Bethlehem
Ain't gormet types, really, or chefly men
Now, they're God-fearin' folks in that keystone state
But their food ain't fit for a collection plate.
There's things for all kinds of people to hate
But there's one that everybody loves

Chorus:
And they call it Scrapple! Scrapple!
Corned and steamed, and hogmeat dappled
Set by the window till it's cold and hard
Sliced up thick and fried in lard
Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania
It's scrapple, scrapple, the pride of Pennsylvania

Well, way down yonder by the Ford Corsair
Billy's got his hands in Betty Sue's hair
Shakin' and a-steamin' up the roadmaster
We can see him but we can't see her

Well Mama's in the kitchen and she might see
"Billy better let your sister be!"
But he jumps from the Buick to the dining room
When he gets a whiff of that pig perfume
Robbie Fulks - Scrapple - http://ru.motolyrics.com/robbie-fulks/scrapple-lyrics.html
Well they call it scrapple! Scrapple!
Hearty as a t-bone, slippery as a tadpole
Any old part of the hog will do
Neck, and the nipples, and the toenails too
Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania
It's scrapple! Scrapple!
The pride of Pennsylvania

Well up in the pen, 'neath the big shade tree
The laziest hog you ever did see
Stiff in the joints, and slow in the head
That fat boy'd be better off dead
So grab your hammer and away we'll fly
To splatter his brains all around the sty
Then we'll be living in a world of dreams
Chuggin' down scrapple till we bust our jeans

It's scrapple! Scrapple!
Didn't bring a plate then fork you a hatful
Workin' in the field till the sun goes down
Grandma's whipped up twenty-five pounds
Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania?
It's scrapple! Scrapple!
The pride of Pennsylvania
It's scrapple! Scrapple!
The pride of Pennsylvania