Robo 410 (aka J. S. E. T.)
Oh mid Atlantic states ye are quite blessed
And settled by a most ingenious race;
Waste not, want not, it is the daily test
To which all tasks in life are set in place.
Oh chops and loins and ribs we know your ‘lure,
Ye hams and hocks and strips of bacon lean,
And fresh, or smoked, or salt or honey cure,
There is no part of pig a plate’s not seen.
And yet about the head, that meat but strings,
What’s to be done with that, oh peckish man?
Yea, muck ‘em in a vat with sundry things
And fry it in a stout black iron pan!
Gray loaf of meal and pork and spice and fat,
No jellied tinned pink meat can e’er top that!