View source

To the tune of "My Way"


Tater tried a little writin exercise to see if he could speak in the first person. Hurts. Hurts like hell.

 

Pass it my way

 

And now, the dinner's near,

The roast is hot, the juices squirtin.

My friends, they are all here;

They're chewin on pate and gherkins.

 

We ate the chips and dip -

We drank some beer, cause that's the guy way.

And now to serve the main,

I'll split it my way.

 

Baguettes? We ate a few,

Don't care they're French, got no pretentions.

Sometimes we had to chew

For quite a while, no need to mention.

 

We planned each tasty course -

Each amuse-bouche, each lobster mornay

And when it's time to serve,

We'll send some your way.

 

Yes, there were times, it's understood,

When what we cooked, won't be no good,

But when we fail, if there was doubt,

We take a taste and spit it out.

The souffle falls, but you stand tall

And send it my way.

 

We've baked, sauteed and fried,

We cut our thumbs, the blood was oozing.

But now, to dress the side,

We have some herbs in oil infusing.

 

To think I made all that,

No recipe No book to guide me

I chopped, sauteed and served

A lobster bisque, a plate of fried brie

 

For what is food? What has it got

To make you want to eat or not?

What's on the grill, it might be eels

A cassoulet or baby seals.

You think it smells? Then what the hell

Just send some my way.