Meat And Potato Man
meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what i am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Meat & Potato Man
Meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what I am,
A meat and potato man
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Potato
One potato, two potato
three potato four.
We need some potatoes
to help feed the poor.
Too many hungry babes
are being born today.
When their mother's milk runs dry
they'll have to find a way
to keep their bellies full.
No time for play.
One potato, two potato,
three potato, four.
You say into each life
a little rain must pour?
I say the rain's that's falling
are tears from the eyes
that run down children's faces
from hunger pains and cries
that elude the ears of rich ones
that never ever buys
potatoes for them all.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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In the morning we received some very thin coffee. For lunch we had potato soup with a few pieces of meat in it, in the evening we had a very thin meat soup with some potatoes in it.
quote by Leon Askin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Less Lonely Potato
One more less lonely potato left inside of the fridge to cool of
So that doesn’t get soggy
Because the heat might spoil that lonely potato
And that lonely potato needs a friend anyway
poem by Aldo Kraas
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For Molly, Concerning God
Is God the one who eats the meat
off the bones of dead people?
-Molly Miranda Jong-Fast, age 3 1/2
God is the one,
Molly,
whether we call him
Him,
or Her,
treeform or spewing
volcano,
Vesuvius or vulva,
penis-rock,
or reindeer-on-cave-wall,
God is the one
who eats
our meat,
Molly,
& we yield
our meat
up willingly.
Meat is our
element,
meat is our
lesson.
When our bodies fill
with each other,
when our blood swells
in our organs
aching for another,
body of meat,
heart of meat,
soul of meat,
we are only doing
what God wants
us to—
meat joining meat
to become insubstantial air,
meat fusing
with meat
to make
a small wonder
like you.
The wonder of you
is that you push
our questions
along into
the future—
so that I know
again
the wonder of meat
through you,
the wonder of meat
turning to philosophy,
the wonder of meat
transubstantiated
into poetry,
the wonder of
sky-blue meat
in your roundest eyes,
the wonder of
dawn-colored meat
in your cheeks & palms,
the wonder of meat
becoming
air.
You
are my theorem,
my proof,
my meaty metaphysics,
my little questioner,
my small Socrates
of the nursery-schoolyard.
To think that
such wonder
can come from meat!
Well then,
if God is hungry—
let Him eat,
let Her eat.
poem by Erica Jong
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The 'Potato' Poem
I love potatoes chopped up into chunky chips.
I love spicy potato wedges, served up with dips.
I love potato slices which have been fried in a pan:
Of sautéed potatoes, I am the world's biggest fan.
I love potatoes which have been pummelled and bashed
With butter and milk to make a real light, fluffy mash.
Jacket potatoes, I find a bit dry, but with a nice filling
Such as chilli, to give them a try, I am more willing.
With breakfast, I love hash browns or potato cakes,
And I love potatoes mixed up with leeks in a bake.
Crispy, golden potatoes, served up with Sunday roast
Are among the kinds of potato which I love the most.
Mixed in soups and casseroles, I love potatoes diced.
On top on minced beef hotpot, I love potatoes sliced.
Fluffy potato stuffed inside a crispy potato croquette
Is also rather nice, and, for me, it is another safe bet.
I love potatoes cut into crisps: the slices, wafer thin,
And, as a starter, I simply love loaded potato skins:
I do adore a delicious dish of Bombay potato curry:
For me, it is a taste which I won't forget in a hurry.
I like potatoes diced up with creamy mayonnaise,
Served up with salad on really hot summer days.
But I don't like potatoes which have been boiled:
From potatoes, cooked this way, in horror, I recoil.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Potato
My love is a potato
Crude with piggy black eyes
Slit in the side and soiled by sod
My love is the rough handled skin
That follows the relentless storm
The tempestous waves
That raged and rent its first soft form
My love is a potato
The first and almost last known outcast
In a jungle school
His head was wedged like a spud
Mounted on a sinew of neck and bristle
His face sunken into flesh
His eyes two dark slits of piggy black lust
That lit up like a fool
I left him standing at the gate, after school!
My love is a potato after the mash and the kill
And the spill of the innocent milk of the martyr
The final slab of the butter
My love is a potato
Not quite a heart
Battered down
And worn
But after the storm
A sweetness and softening
And love is born!
yvette smith march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Pig Meat
(huddie ledbetter)
(c7) - (c) - (f7) - (c) - (g7)
(c7) just look here mama
Dont pick pig meat the way you (c) do
(f7) dont pick pig meat the way you (c) do
(c7) dont be (g7) lieve its pig meat
Ask (f7) anybody in the neighborhood (c)
Dont believe its pig meat
Kind that you wont regret
Dont believe its pig meat
Kind that you wont regret
I got something about this pig meat
Sweet mama aint told you yet
I was born and raised in the country
Mama but Im staying in town
I was born and raised in the country
Mama but Im staying in town
You dont believe its pig meat
Mama from my head on down
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dropped Like a Hot Potato
I had the fear in me stopped.
Dropped like a hot potato.
I got tired of being unhappy.
And strapped with available nonsense,
On my back.
I've long asked God to deliver me from that.
I had the fear in me stopped.
Dropped like a hot potato.
Without one regret of being burned.
Or which emotion I dealt with it.
I was not going to allow it to sit.
And nourish on me as if a leech!
I've long asked God to deliver me from that.
I had been whipped into doubt and confusion.
No one had to tell me I was crazed.
I was in the affirmation stage.
I had the fear in me stopped.
And dropped like a hot potato.
And today...
Nothing gets dropped.
Since the fear in me stopped.
To let go of an experience,
That may be too precious to go wasted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bone OUT
Dog
Did not
Lovengely
Eat at...
Meat...
Why...?
Meat bone less
Meat...
So...
Dog did not
Eat meet...
Dog wanted for
Bone...
With meat...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Tender Buttons [Apple]
APPLE
Apple plum, carpet steak, seed clam, colored wine, calm seen, cold cream, best shake, potato, potato and no no gold work with pet, a green seen is called bake and change sweet is bready, a little piece a little piece please.
A little piece please. Cane again to the presupposed and ready eucalyptus tree, count out sherry and ripe plates and little corners of a kind of ham. This is use.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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One Mans Meat
Cold beer and a strange cigarette
Getting you high getting you wet
Falling in love falling out of debt
Straight gay black or white
Strutting in the dark hiding in the light
Doing it wrong doing it right just doing it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right we all got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
Short fat thick or thin
Take it in the gut take it on the chin
Living in glory living in sin
Hard days work going down slow
Riding the road where the greengrass grows
Watching in die what dyou know
Watch it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Muse From The Forest
The white gold,
The black gold,
The red gold,
The yellow gold,
'Obroni-Nephew' is about to teach you all;
Like the very call of a muse from the forest.
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects;
The very call from the forest with a view but,
Do you like to be fed with crocodile meat?
The lizard meat,
The lion meat,
The tiger meat,
The snake meat,
The elephant meat,
Life is like that for many who eat everything;
The Chinese eat all animals, fish and insects.
Life is like a visit to the biggest cemetery on earth,
Do you like to be fed with cockroaches?
Whatever we eat today,
We will be burried one day.
Of the brown gold,
Of the orange gold,
Of the green gold,
Of the blue gold,
The Chinese eat all meat, fish and insects.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Banana Soup
If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Potato Bug Exterminators
During the summer of 1883 we were walking along past a large field of
potatoes in North Oxford, where we beheld the strange spectacle of a
pair of bipeds drilling their offspring to march up one potato row and
down the other, so as to annihilate the enemy, who had assembled in
vast armies, dressed in yellow garments, and who were committing
fearful depredations on the fruits of the husbandmen, until the valuable
auxilliary forces rushed to the rescue of the farmer, o'erwhelming the
enemy and with one fell swoop, bringing on them consternation and
ruin dire. It appears that the foe, or their progenitors,
had been citizens of Colordo in the far West. And that,
having conquered all before them, they sought another
World to conquer here.
When we do trace out nature's laws,
And view effects, and muse on cause,
For the future there's great hope
If we our eyes do only ope.
With joy they will often glisten,
If to truth one doth but listen ;
But people often turn deaf ear
And what is useful will not hear.
Now for a minute, lend your luggs [sic],
Our theme, it is potato bugs.
Just buy a pair of young peafowl,
Their voice may be like to screech owl,
But soon as the potato shows
You there will find the peafowl goes,
Up one row and down the other
Like loving sister with brother.
And you will find that down their muggs
Have disappeared potato bugs,
Theres no more need of Paris green
For they will keep potatoes clean.
And faithful they will work all day,
For to them 'tis gay sport and play ;
No more you need their voice bewail,
But admire beauties of the tail.
poem by James McIntyre
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Craving A Taste Of Kiwi
last night I lonesome had
irresistible urge to eat kiwi
craving a taste of kai kiwi
the earth is giver of all life
from the soil comes food
native foods New Zealand
that same food is cooked
in oven beneath the earth
but expatriate here will find
no hangi traditional feast
nor any food of home forest
stream sea or gardens kiwi
years since eaten white bait
fresh silver jewels of Buller
River in my far home town
kumara tasty potato sweet
no traditional delicacies
grace my table no hangi
cooked meat vegetables
placed on bed hot stones
in bottom of dug hangi
hole no birds fish kiwi
wild herbs roots mixed
no food cloth covered
before mound of earth
traps heat around food
Maori tourism visitors
eat as guests hangi food
no taewa tutaekuri pass
lips deep purple potato
no rewena pararoa pass
lips potato Maori bread
my father puha gathered
a leafy vegetable green
to be found growing wild
after heavy Buller rains
kowhitiwhiti watercress
also smiling he harvested
greenlip mussels off rocks
at seashore neap low tides
greenlip mussels I ate
as kuku patties paua
from mother of pearl
shells in far away land
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sweet Potato Pie
Oh lord I feel fine today
Im walking on cloud nine today
Im over that line today
Happiness is finally mine today
I guess Im just a lucky guy
And Im prepared to tell you why
Its strictly on account of my
Sweet potato pie
Im the fellow that she loves the most
The main reason why she left the coast
Shes my little girlziña
That much hotter that a jalapeo
Tender like a night in june
Sweeter than a honeymoon
Brighter than a silver spoon
Just as crazy as a loon
Softer than a lullabye
Deeper than the midnight sky
Soulful as a babys cry
My sweet potato pie
I used to see her around the neighborhood
I wonder how she grew up so good
She belonged to freddy and he was bad
And I never was ready to make him mad
Im glad I had to wait awhile
A little bit too juvenile
I needed to refine my style
A silk suit and a crocodile smile
So let the whole damn world go by
cause I just want to testify
From now on its me and my
Sweet potato pie
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not A Supermarket
Religious belief is not a supermarket,
But i am in love with your muse like Nat king Cole!
So be the first to paddle and the first to formulate,
For your love is very dear to my heart.
To be straight is better than visiting the graves early,
And with nimble hopes to shine during the day;
But who mooted this idea of your love to me?
The meat of the lion,
the meat of the ostrich,
The meat of the crocodile,
The meat of the snake,
With a visa acquired in the Land of Religion!
But the synthesis of my love to you is like,
The eschatological synthesis of your muse so calm at times!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Cafe Of Dreams
welcome to the cafe
the cafe of dreams
the cattle stand dry
dry of mouth parched
awaiting their slaughter
so that a tired worker
may enjoy a good steak
meat pie or sausages
ground meat salt herbs spices
fried lovingly in your frying pan
not young mince meat dying
politic rhetoric in Afghanistan
slaugherhouse cafe is open
not only for teenagers who
dine 'Café des Abbatoirs'
die daily like passing cattle
poem by Terence George Craddock
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