by Frank Jacobs, "If Rudyard Kipling were a cookbook editor"
You can talk of beef and spuds, When you're frocked in fancy duds, A'sitin' there as cozy as you please; But when some heathen demon In your stomach starts a'screamin', Then you'll sell you bloomin' soul for Buttered Peas.
For it's Peas, Peas, Peas! They're enough to bring a blighter to his knees! I'll give up those flying fishes Long as I've big, heaping dishes Of those succulent, delicious Buttered Peas!
First you shell 'em to the man, Then you dump 'em in a pan, And boil 'em till the bugler calls a halt; Next remove 'em neat and clean, While you shout, "God Save the Queen!" And then serve 'em with some butter and some salt!
For it's Peas, Peas, Peas! There's no finer food in all the seven seas! It's for you I give my pay for, Walk the road to Mandalay for; To the God above I pray for Buttered Peas!
Reference: Frank Jacobs, "Mad for Better or Verse", pp. 128-131, Signet New American Library, 1968.