A ten-pound cast iron frying pan,
is how the whole thing starts;
Granny’s food is heavenly,
but hell upon our hearts.
Relying heavily on pork,
she seasons what’s upon our forks;
and pinto beans,
They start out bland,
but fatback’s grand,
for adding flavor to these things.
Catfish swim in bacon grease,
and make our earlobes start to crease;
Apple pies with crusts of lard,
Bellies grow soft, arteries hard.
We shovel it in with Southern glee,
And wash it down with sweetened tea.
Everything’s greasy, everything’s fried,
And that’s the way that Grandpa died.