 | [Poems by Howe in] Julia Ward Howe 1819-1910 |  |
348
COOKERY BOOKERY, OH!
My Irish cook has gone away
Upon my dinner-party day;
I don't know what to do or say—
Cookery bookery, oh!
Upon my dinner-party day;
I don't know what to do or say—
Cookery bookery, oh!
Chorus:
Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire!Sing, coals are high and always higher!
Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire!
Cookery bookery, oh!
She could cook every kind of dish,
“Wittles” of meat and “wittles” of fish,
And soup as fancy as you wish—
And she is gone away!
“Wittles” of meat and “wittles” of fish,
And soup as fancy as you wish—
And she is gone away!
She weighed two hundred pounds of cheek,
She had a voice that made me meek,
I had to listen when she did speak—
Cookery bookery, oh!
She had a voice that made me meek,
I had to listen when she did speak—
Cookery bookery, oh!
My husband comes, a saucy elf,
And eyes the saucepan on the shelf;
Says he, “Why don't you cook yourself?”
Cookery bookery, oh!
And eyes the saucepan on the shelf;
Says he, “Why don't you cook yourself?”
Cookery bookery, oh!
Chorus:
Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire!Sing, coals are high and always higher!
Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire!
Cookery bookery, oh!
| [Poems by Howe in] Julia Ward Howe 1819-1910 | |