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! Did I wish to beat Nater,
I'd take you when new, and produce a baked tater!
Some scoff at a tater, and don't wish to see un;
They say you are vulgar and very plebeian,
And call you a root! But their minds are unsound:
It's your modesty tells you to hide in the ground.
Tater! tater! Many-eyed, potent tater!
(King Richard with III. was only Dick-tater.)
But alas! you are deaf to my harp's fond endeavor,
Or I'd sing in this beautiful fashion forever!
You have eyes, but you see not; you're deaf as a drum;
And as none else will listen, like you I'll be dumb.
Tater! tater! When I leave mortal Nater,
Let the world calmly think what I thought of a tater!