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.
