I will watch my maters grow.
They will reach into the sky.
And my belly it will growl.
And my eyes, yes they will cry.
As will I!
“Oh mater, come to me. You will go
right through me. You’re red, you’re black.
A wonderful snack. You’re yeller, ol feller.
A good, good smeller. Acidic and sweet.
You’re so hard to beat.
No you’re not mistaken. I cook me some bacon!
Put salt on a slice. You know it’s so nice,
with mayo and bread! It goes to my head!
One day I’ll be dead, so today I’ll be fed!
Ol ken tuck ee dirt, all over my shirt,
and it’s soaking wet, all covered in sweat.
The sunlight beats down, hits hard on the ground!
It’s what maters need, from fruit to the seed!
Come to me ol mater! You ain’t no potater!
I buy those you know, but you I must grow!
I waited through ice. I waited through snow.
And now I can’t wait to reap what I sow!
So go you ol mater! Let’s go! Grow!”