Ogden Nash - The Clean Plater lyrics

Some singers sing of ladies' eyes And some of ladies lips Refined ones praise their ladylike ways And coarse ones hymn their hips The Oxford Book of English Verse Is lush with lyrics tender A poet, I guess, is more or less Preoccupied with gender Yet I, though custom call me crude Prefer to sing in praise of food Food Yes, food Just any old kind of food Pheasant is pleasant, of course And terrapin, too, is tasty Lobster I freely endorse In pate or patty or pasty But there's nothing the matter with bu*ter And nothing the matter with jam And the warmest greetings I utter To the ham and the yam and the clam For they're food All food And I think very fondly of food Through I'm broody at times When bothered by rhymes I brood On food Some painters paint the sapphire sea And some the gathering storm Others portray young lambs at play But most, the female form “Twas trite in that primeval dawn When painting got its start That a lady with her garments on Is Life, but is she Art? By undraped nymphs I am not wooed I'd rather painters painted food Food Just food Just any old kind of food Go purloin a sirloin, my pet If you'd win a devotion incredible And asparagus tips vinaigrette Or anything else that is edible Bring salad or sausage or scrapple A berry or even a beet Bring an oyster, an egg, or an apple As long as it's something to eat If it's food It's food Never mind what kind of food When I ponder my mind I consistently find It is glued On food