Digital Tradition Mirror

Hungry Hash House

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Hungry Hash House

I'm a boarder and I dwell in that second-rate hotel
If I stay here long, I think I'll go insane;
For I lay here on my bunk and I cannot reach my trunk
And the board I would break a millionaire.

   Oh they feed on chicken pie, if you eat it you will die
   The meat you cannot cut it with a sword;
   Oh, there's undertakers hangin' 'round, for there's good work to be found
   In that all-go-hungry hash house where I board.

Oh, they carried me upstairs one night, you would need a fork and knife
It was something they had never done before;
Oh, the fleas all held me down while the cheesecake scarrped around
In that all-go-hungry hash house where I board.

   Oh, the beefsteak it was rare and the butter had red hair
   And the baby had its feet both in the stew;
   Oh, the eggs you dared not touch, if you kicked one it would hatch
   In that all-go-hungry hash house where I go.

Well, she promised she would meet me when the clock struck seventeen
At the stock-yards just five miles outside of town;
Where there's pig's feet and pig's ears, and tough old Texas steers
Sell for sirloin steak at nineteen cents a pound.

   She's my darling, she's my daisy. She's hump-backed and she's crazy,
   She's knock-kneed, she's bow-legged and she's lame;
   And though they say her breath is sweet, I would rather smell her feet
   She' my freckle-faced consumptive Mary Jane.

Recorded by Charlie Poole, New Lost City Ramblers
Also see Little Old Sod Shanty on My Claim

Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!

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