Spud Island

Potatoes

Potatoes in the long ago,

Were first planted with plow and hoe. As children we would plant the seed, And then run home for a tater feed. When the potato bugs came on the leaves,

Our job was picking them like fleas.

A penny a hundred was our pay,

As we counted them in tall brown bottles each day.

Then in an old paint can we dumped them in, And held a bonfire, what a sin.

Then barefoot again we went,

And picked those taters till our backs were bent. With our old nag horse, we hauled them home, And ate raw Taters on every load,

Potatoes we ate every day,

Cooked by our mother in many delicious ways. Boiled, baked, mashed, fried and in fish cakes, We craved potatoes on our plate.

Spud Island potatoes number one in demand, Keep filling world markets to bring food to man

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