"Spoken: Hello folks, I'm in New York and from the country,
But you can't tell me, don't you tell me, roastin' ears ain't corn."
There's a hotel in the city as we climb the golden stairs
And they serve the hash up on the second floor
There's a graveyard in the cellar, Doctor's office in the parlour
And the undertaker keeps his shop next door
"Touch Me Not" is on the teacups; skeleton cross bones on the plates
And the writing on the turkey you can spell
Oh the biscuits they are named, and I'm going to have them framed
At that all go hungry hash house where I dwell
Oh the donuts they are wooden and we have Limburger puddin'
We kneel in prayer before we go to grub
If you chance to get a breeze of that Ambelonious cheese
You'd have swore somebody'd hit you with a club
That hotel where I stay, it is turning my hair gray
And the landlord is always full of beer
Oh the bedbugs must have rented, and the air was sweetly scented
By an old-fashioned pig pen in the rear
Oh the sausages they are marked, if you touch them they will bark
It's a relic sent from "Bingen on the Rhine.?
All the borders have the croup caught from drinking frozen soup
At that all go hungry hash house where I dine
They have India rubber pickles exercise them on bi-sick-ells
And a dinner bell and gong they can't afford
When they open up the gates, we'll come skippin' on roller skates
At that all go hungry hash house where I board
There's a woman called the Duchess, brings the coffee in on crutches
And the cake looks like a sponge that petrified
Oh the pies are old and gray; they were tackled by a jay
Who went right out and committed suicide
Oh the molasses are made of paint, if you smell them you will faint
They are yellow, and dished up in a gourd
Oh the eggs are made to match, if you touch them they will hatch
At that all go hungry hash house where I board