A “potato’s potato” the others would call him Not exactly rotund, but ... nor was he slim. A stud for the ages, a chap— A warm face to slap on And gee golly we’ll miss him now that he’s gone! A head so divine: quite bulbous it was And smooth! Not even the wisp of a stray fuzz But, sadly, he was a he... that much surely was true. And for that benign crime There’s not much we could do. That head! That beautiful head— It be cursed as a he! And we—we just won’t abide hes that are weeds. And so that old rascal, That louse and that hater, Was kicked down off his perch As the number one tater The people’s potato. Undercooked. Overthrown! In his place, we’ve replaced, That old toy we once owned.