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Correct Scrapple Lyrics
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Robbie Fulks
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Correct Scrapple
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The mom and pop diners 'round Allentown Don't really have much that a fella can hold down And the folks up 'round Philly and Bethlehem Ain't gormet types, really, or chefly men Now, they're God-fearin' folks in that keystone state But their food ain't fit for a collection plate. There's things for all kinds of people to hate But there's one that everybody loves Chorus: And they call it Scrapple! Scrapple! Corned and steamed, and hogmeat dappled Set by the window till it's cold and hard Sliced up thick and fried in lard Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan That's kickin' up all this mania It's scrapple, scrapple, the pride of Pennsylvania Well, way down yonder by the Ford Corsair Billy's got his hands in Betty Sue's hair Shakin' and a-steamin' up the roadmaster We can see him but we can't see her Well Mama's in the kitchen and she might see "Billy better let your sister be!" But he jumps from the Buick to the dining room When he gets a whiff of that pig perfume Well they call it scrapple! Scrapple! Hearty as a t-bone, slippery as a tadpole Any old part of the hog will do Neck, and the nipples, and the toenails too Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan That's kickin' up all this mania It's scrapple! Scrapple! The pride of Pennsylvania Well up in the pen, 'neath the big shade tree The laziest hog you ever did see Stiff in the joints, and slow in the head That fat boy'd be better off dead So grab your hammer and away we'll fly To splatter his brains all around the sty Then we'll be living in a world of dreams Chuggin' down scrapple till we bust our jeans It's scrapple! Scrapple! Didn't bring a plate then fork you a hatful Workin' in the field till the sun goes down Grandma's whipped up twenty-five pounds Hey what's that swimmin' in the big red pan That's kickin' up all this mania? It's scrapple! Scrapple! The pride of Pennsylvania It's scrapple! Scrapple! The pride of Pennsylvania
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